r 


David  Graham  Phillips 


.GRAIN  OF  DUST 

A    NOVEL 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

A.  B.  WENZELL 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 

1912 


COPTRIOHT,   1911,  BT 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
Copyright,  1911,  by  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 


Published  April,  1911 

'      ,  V 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


*--' 


f"l  will  teach  you  to  love  me/  he  cried." 

[Page  135.] 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 


'"I  will  teach  you  to  love  me/  he  cried"  Frontispiece 
" '  You  won't  make  an  out-and-out  idiot  of  yourself, 

will  you,  Ursula?'" 46 

t(t  Would  you  like  to  think  I  was  marrying  you   for 
what  you  have? — or  for  any  other  reason  what 
ever  but  for  what  you  are?'"        .        .        .        .       86 
•"It  has  killed  me/  he  groaned"         .        .        .        .178 
fcShe  glanced  complacently  down  at  her  softly  glist 
ening  shoulders" 222 

nt  Father  ...  I  have  asked  you  not  to  interfere  be 
tween  Fred  and  me'"     .        .        .        .        .        .      250 

"Evidently  she  had  been  crying"         ....      330 

"At   Josephine's   right   sat    a   handsome   young    for 
eigner"       392 


THE  GRAIN  OF  DUST 


INTO  the  offices  of  Lockyer,  Sanders,  Benchley, 
Lockyer  &  Norman,  cor£oratign  lawyers,  there  drifted 
on  a  December  afternoon  a  girl  in  search  of  work  at 
stenography  and  typewriting.  The  firm  was  about  the 
most  important  and  most  famous — radical  orators  often 
said  infamous — in  New  York.  The  girl  seemed,  at  a 
glance,  about  as  unimportant  and  obscure  an  atom  as 
the  city  hid  in  its  vast  ferment.  She  was  blonde — tawny 
hair,  fair  skin,  blue  eyes.  Aside  from  this  hardly  con 
clusive  mark  of  identity  there  was  nothing  positive, 
nothing  definite,  about  her.  She  was  neither  tall  nor 
short,  neither  fat  nor  thin,  neither  grave  nor  gay.  She 
gave  the  impression  of  a  young  person  of  the  feminine 
gender  —  that,  and  nothing  more.  She  was  plainly 
dressed,  like  thousands  of  other  girls,  in  darkish  blue 
jacket  and  skirt  and  white  shirt  waist.  Her  boots  and 
gloves  were  neat,  her  hair  simply  and  well  arranged. 
Perhaps  in  these  respects — in  neatness  and  taste — she 
did  excel  the  average,  which  is  depressingly  low.  But 
in  a  city  where  more  or  less  strikingly  pretty  women, 
bent  upon  being  seen,  are  as  plentiful  as  the  black 
berries  of  Kentucky's  July — in  New  York  no  one  would 

1 


OF   DUST 


have  given  her  a  second  look,  this  quiet  young  woman 
screened  in  an  atmosphere  of  self-effacement. 

She  applied  to  the  head  clerk.  It  so  happened  that 
need  for  another  typewriter  had  just  arisen.  She  got 
a  trial,  showed  enough  skill  to  warrant  the  modest  wage 
of  ten  dollars  a  week  ;  she  became  part  of  the  office  force 
of  twenty  or  twenty-five  young  men  and  women  similarly 
employed.  As  her  lack  of  skill  was  compensated  by 
industry  and  regularity,  she  would  have  a  job  so  long 
as  business  did  not  slacken.  When  it  did,  she  would 
be  among  the  first  to  be  let  go.  She  shrank  into  her 
obscure  niche  in  the  great  firm,  came  and  went  in  mouse 
like  fashion,  said  little,  obtruded  herself  never,  was  all 
but  forgotten. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  commonplace,  more 
trivial  than  the  whole  incident.  The  name  of  the  girl 
was  Hallowell  —  Miss  Hallowell.  On  the  chief  clerk's 
pay  roll  appeared  the  additional  information  that  her 
first  name  was  Dorothea.  The  head  office  boy,  in  one 
of  his  occasional  spells  of  "  freshness,"  addressed  her 
as  Miss  Dottie.  She  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  ex 
pression  ;  it  presently  changed  to  a  slight,  sweet  smile, 
and  she  went  about  her  business.  There  was  no  rebuke 
in  her  manner;  she  was  far  too  self-effacing  for  any 
thing  so  positive  as  the  mildest  rebuke.  But  the  head 
office  boy  blushed  awkwardly  —  why  he  did  not  know  and 
could  not  discover,  though  he  often  cogitated  upon  it. 
She  remained  Miss  Hallowell. 

i 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Opposites  suggest  each  other.  The  dimmest  person 
ality  in  those  offices  was  the  girl  whose  name  imaged  to 
everyone  little  more  than  a  pencil,  notebook,  and  type 
writing  machine.  The  vividest  personality  was  Frederick 
Norman.  In  the  list  of  names  upon  the  outer  doors  of  the 
firm's  vast  labyrinthine  suite,  on  the  seventeenth  floor 
of  the  Syndicate  Building,  his  name  came  last — and, 
in  the  newest  lettering,  suggesting  recentness  of  part 
nership.  In  age  he  was  the  youngest  of  the  partners. 
Lockyer  was  archaic,  Sanders  an  antique;  Benchley, 
actually  only  about  fifty-five,  had  the  air  of  one  born 
in  the  grandfather  class.  Lockyer  the  son  dyed  his 
hair  and  affected  jauntiness,  but  was  in  fact  not  many 
years  younger  than  Benchley  and  had  the  stiffening 
jerky  legs  of  one  paying  for  a  lively  youth.  Norman 
was  thirty-seven — at  the  age  the  Greeks  extolled  as 
divine  because  it  means  all  the  best  of  youth  combined 
with  all  the  best  of  manhood.  Some  people  thought 
Norman  younger,  almost  boyish.  Those  knew  him  up 
town  only,  where  he  hid  the  man  of  affairs  beneath  the 
man  of  the  world-that-amuses-itself.  Some  people 
thought  he  looked,  and  was,  older  than  the  age  with 
which  the  biographical  notices  credited  him.  They  knew 
him  down  town  only — where  he  dominated  by  sheer  force 
of  intellect  and  will. 

As  has  been  said,  the  firm  ranked  among  the  great 
est  in  New  York.  It  was  a  trusted  counselor  in  large 
affairs — commercial,  financial,  political — in  all  parts  of 

9 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


America,  in  all  parts  of  the  globe,  for  many  ot  its 
clients  were  international  traffickers.  Yet  this  young 
man,  this  youngest  and  most  recent  of  the  partners, 
had  within  the  month  forced  a  reorganization  of  the 
firm — or,  rather,  of  its  profits — on  a  basis  that  gave  him 
no  less  than  one  half  of  the  whole. 

His  demand  threw  his  four  associates  into  paroxysms 
of  rage  and  fear — the  fear  serving  as  a  wholesome  anti 
dote  to  the  rage. 

It  certainly  was  infuriating  that  a  youth,  admitted 
to  partnership  barely  three  years  ago,  should  thus  mal 
treat  his  associates.  Ingrate  was  precisely  the  epithet 
for  him.  At  least,  so  they  honestly  thought,  after  the 
quaint  human  fashion ;  for,  because  they  had  given  him 
the  partnership,  they  looked  on  themselves  as  his  bene 
factors,  and  neglected  as  unimportant  detail  the  sole 
and  entirely  selfish  reason  for  their  graciousness.  But 
enraged  though  these  worthy  gentlemen  were,  and 
eagerly  though  they  longed  to  treat  the  "  conceited 
and  grasping  upstart "  as  he  richly  deserved,  they  ac 
cepted  his  ultimatum.  Even  the  venerable  and  ven 
erated  Lockyer  —  than  whom  a  more  convinced  self- 
deceiver  on  the  subject  of  his  own  virtues  never  wore 
white  whiskers,  black  garments,  and  the  other  badges 
of  eminent  respectability — even  old  Joseph  Lockyer 
could  not  twist  the  acceptance  into  another  manifesta 
tion  of  the  benevolence  of  himself  and  his  associates. 
They  had  to  stare  the  grimacing  truth  straight  in  the 

4 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


face ;  they  were  yielding  because  they  dared  not  refuse. 
To  refuse  would  mean  the  departure  of  Norman  with 
the  firm's  most  profitable  business.  It  costs  heavily  to 
live  in  New  York;  the  families  of  successful  men  are 
extravagant;  so  conduct  unbecoming  a  gentleman  may 
not  there  be  resented  if  to  resent  is  to  cut  down  one's 
income.  The  time  was,  as  the  dignified  and  nicely  hon 
orable  Sanders  observed,  when  these  and  many  similar 
low  standards  did  not  prevail  in  the  legal  profession. 
But  such  is  the  frailty  of  human  nature — or  so  savage 
the  pressure  of  the  need  of  the  material  necessities  of 
civilized  life,  let  a  profession  become  profitable  or  de 
velop  possibilities  of  profit  —  even  the  profession  of 
statesman,  even  that  of  lawyer — or  doctor — or  priest — 
or  wife — and  straightway  it  begins  to  tumble  down 
toward  the  brawl  and  stew  of  the  market  place. 

In  a  last  effort  to  rouse  the  gentleman  in  Norman 
or  to  shame  him  into  pretense  of  gentlemanliness,  Lock- 
yer  expostulated  with  him  like  a  prophet  priest  in  full 
panoply  of  saintly  virtue.  And  Lockyer  was  passing 
good  at  that  exalted  gesture.  He  was  a  Websterian 
figure,  with  the  venality  of  the  great  Daniel  in  all  its 
pompous  dignity  modernized — and  correspondingly  ex 
panded.  He  abounded  in  those  idealist  sonorosities  that 
are  the  stock-in-trade  of  all  solemn  old-fashioned  frauds. 
The  young  man  listened  with  his  wonted  attentive 
courtesy  until  the  dolorous  appeal  disguised  as  fatherly 
counsel  came  to  an  end.  Then  in  his  blue-gray  eyes 

5 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


appeared  the  gleam  that  revealed  the  tenacity  and  the 
penetration  of  his  mind.  He  said: 

"  Mr.  Lockyer,  you  have  been  absent  six  years — 
except  an  occasional  two  or  three  weeks — absent  as 
American  Ambassador  to  France.  You  have  done  noth 
ing  for  the  firm  in  that  time.  Yet  you  have  not  scorned  to 
take  profits  you  did  not  earn.  Why  should  I  scorn  to 
take  profits  I  do  earn?  " 

Mr.  Lockyer  shook  his  picturesque  head  in  sad 
remonstrance  at  this  vulgar,  coarse,  but  latterly  frequent 
retort  of  insurgent  democracy  upon  indignant  aristoc 
racy.  But  he  answered  nothing. 

"  Also,"  proceeded  the  graceless  youth  in  the  clear 
and  concise  way  that  won  the  instant  attention  of  juries 
and  judges,  "  also,  our  profession  is  no  longer  a  profes 
sion  but  a  business."  His  humorous  eyes  twinkled  mer 
rily.  "  It  divides  into  two  parts — teaching  capitalists 
how  to  loot  without  being  caught,  and  teaching  them 
how  to  get  off  if  by  chance  they  have  been  caught. 
There  are  other  branches  of  the  profession,  but  they're 
not  lucrative,  so  we  do  not  practice  them.  Do  I  make 
myself  clear  ?  " 

Mr.  Lockyer  again  shook  his  head  and  sighed. 

"  I  am  not  an  Utopian,"  continued  young  Norman. 
"  Law  and  custom  permit — not  to  say  sanctify — our 
sort  of  business.  So — I  do  my  best.  But  I  shall  not 
conceal  from  you  that  it's  distasteful  to  me.  I  wish  to 
get  out  of  it.  I  shall  get  out  as  soon  as  I've  made  enough 

6 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


capital  to  assure  me  the  income  I  have  and  need.  Natur 
ally,  I  wish  to  gather  in  the  necessary  amount  as 
speedily  as  possible." 

"  Fred,  my  boy,  I  regret  that  you  take  such  low 
views  of  our  noble  profession." 

"  Yes — as  a  profession  it  is  noble.  But  not  as  a 
practice.  My  regret  is  that  it  invites  and  compels  such 
low  views." 

"  You  will  look  at  these  things  more — more  mel 
lowly  when  you  are  older." 

"  I  doubt  if  I'll  ever  rise  very  high  in  the  art  of 
self-deception,"  replied  Norman.  "  If  I'd  had  any  bent 
that  way  I'd  not  have  got  so  far  so  quickly." 

It  was  a  boastful  remark — of  a  kind  he,  and  other 
similar  young  men,  have  the  habit  of  making.  But 
from  him  it  did  not  sound  boastful — simply  a  frank 
and  timely  expression  of  an  indisputable  truth,  which 
indeed  it  was.  Once  more  Mr.  Lockyer  sighed.  "  I  see 
you  are  incorrigible,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  not  acted  without  reflection,"  said  Norman. 

And  Lockyer  knew  that  to  persist  was  simply  to 
endanger  his  dignity.  "  I  am  getting  old,"  said  he. 
"  Indeed,  I  am  old.  I  have  gotten  into  the  habit  of 
leaning  on  you,  my  boy.  I  can't  consent  to  your  going, 
hard  though  you  make  it  for  us  to  keep  you.  I  shall 
try  to  persuade  our  colleagues  to  accept  your  terms." 

Norman  showed  neither  appreciation  nor  triumph. 
He  merely  bowed  slightly.  And  so  the  matter  was 

7 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


settled.  Instead  of  moving  into  the  suite  of  offices  in 
the  Mills  Building  on  which  he  had  taken  an  option, 
young  Norman  remained  where  he  had  been  toiling  for 
twelve  years. 

After  this  specimen  of  Norman's  quality,  no  one 
will  be  surprised  to  learn  that  in  figure  he  was  one  of 
those  solidly  built  men  of  medium  height  who  look  as 
if  they  were  made  to  sustain  and  to  deliver  shocks,  to 
bear  up  easily  under  heavy  burdens;  or  that  his  head 
thickly  covered  with  fairish  hair,  was  hatchet-shaped 
with  the  helve  or  face  suggesting  that  while  it  could 
and  would  cleave  any  obstacle,  it  would  wear  a  merry 
if  somewhat  sardonic  smile  the  while.  No  one  had  ever 
seen  Norman  angry,  though  a  few  persevering  offend 
ers  against  what  he  regarded  as  his  rights  had  felt 
the  results  of  swift  and  powerful  action  of  the  same 
sort  that  is  usually  accompanied — and  weakened — by 
outward  show  of  anger.  Invariably  good-humored,  he 
was  soon  seen  to  be  more  dangerous  than  the  men  of 
flaring  temper.  In  most  instances  good  humor  of  this 
unbreakable  species  issues  from  weakness,  from  a  desire 
to  conciliate — usually  with  a  view  to  plucking  the  more 
easily.  Norman's  good  humor  arose  from  a  sense  of 
absolute  security  which  in  turn  was  the  product  of  con 
fidence  in  himself  and  amiable  disdain  for  his  fellow  men. 
The  masses  he  held  in  derision  for  permitting  the  classes 
to  rule  and  rob  and  spit  upon  them.  The  classes  he 
scorned  for  caring  to  occupy  themselves  with  so  cheap 

8 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


and  sordid  a  game  as  the  ruling,  robbing,  and  spitting 
aforesaid.  Coming  down  to  the  specific,  he  despised 
men  as  individuals  because  he  had  always  found  in  each 
and  everyone  of  them  a  weakness  that  made  it  easy  for 
him  to  use  them  as  he  pleased. 

Not  an  altogether  pleasant  character,  this.  But 
not  so  unpleasant  as  it  may  seem  to  those  unable  im 
partially  to  analyze  human  character,  even  their  own — 
especially  their  own.  And  let  anyone  who  is  disposed 
to  condemn  Norman  first  look  within  himself — in  some 
less  hypocritical  and  self -deceiving  moment,  if  he  have 
such  moments — and  let  him  note  what  are  the  qualities 
he  relies  upon  and  uses  in  his  own  struggle  to  save 
himself  from  being  submerged  and  sunk.  Further, 
there  were  in  Norman  many  agreeable  qualities,  im 
portant,  but  less  fundamental,  therefore  less  deep-hid 
den — therefore  generally  regarded  as  the  real  man  and 
as  the  cause  of  his  success  in  which  they  in  fact  had 
almost  no  part.  He  was,  for  example,  of  striking 
physical  appearance,  was  attractively  dressed  and  man 
nered,  was  prodigally  generous.  Neither  as  lawyer  nor 
as  man  did  he  practice  justice.  But  while  as  lawyer  he 
practiced  injustice,  as  man  he  practiced  mercy.  When 
ever  a  weakling  appealed  to  him  for  protection,  he  gave 
it — at  times  with  splendid  recklessness  as  to  the  cost 
to  himself  in  antagonisms  and  enmities.  Indeed,  so 
great  were  the  generosities  of  his  character  that,  had 
he  not  been  arrogant,  disdainful,  self-confident,  reso- 

9 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


lutely  and  single-heartedly  ambitious,  he  must  inevita 
bly  have  ruined  himself — if  he  had  ever  been  able  to 
rise  high  enough  to  be  worthy  the  dignity  of  catas 
trophe. 

Successful  men  are  usually  trying  persons  to  know 
well.  Lambs,  asses,  and  chickens  do  not  associate  hap 
pily  with  lions,  wolves,  and  hawks — nor  do  birds  and 
beasts  of  prey  get  on  well  with  one  another.  Norman 
was  regarded  as  "  difficult "  by  his  friends — by  those 
of  them  who  happened  to  get  into  the  path  of  his  ambi 
tion,  in  front  of  instead  of  behind  him,  and  by  those 
who  fell  into  the  not  unnatural  error  of  misunderstand 
ing  his  good  nature  and  presuming  upon  it.  His  clients 
regarded  him  as  insolent.  The  big  businesses,  seeking  the 
rich  spoils  of  commerce,  frequent  highly  perilous  waters. 
They  need  skillful  pilots.  Usually  these  lawyer-pilots 
"  know  their  place "  and  put  on  no  airs  upon  the 
quarter-deck  while  they  are  temporarily  in  command. 
Not  so  Norman.  He  took  the  full  rank,  authority — 
and  emoluments — of  commander.  And  as  his  power, 
fame,  and  income  were  swiftly  growing,  it  is  fair  to 
assume  that  he  knew  what  he  was  about. 

He  was  admired — extravagantly  admired — by  young 
men  with  not  too  broad  a  vein  of  envy.  He  was  no 
woman  hater — anything  but  that.  Indeed,  those  who 
wished  him  ill  had  from  time  to  time  hoped  to  see  him 
tumble  down,  through  miscalculation  in  some  of  his 
audacities  with  women.  No — he  did  not  hate  women. 

10 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


But  there  were  several  women  who  hated  him — or  tried 
to;  and  if  wounded  vanity  and  baffled  machination  be 
admitted  as  just  causes  for  hatred,  they  had  cause.  He 
liked — but  he  did  not  wholly  trust.  When  he  went  to 
sleep,  it  was  not  where  Delilah  could  wield  the  shears. 
A  most  irritating  prudence — irritating  to  friends  and 
intimates  of  all  degrees  and  kinds,  in  a  race  of  beings 
with  a  mania  for  being  trusted  implicitly  but  with  no 
balancing  mania  for  deserving  trust  of  the  implicit 
variety. 

And  he  ate  hugely — and  whatever  he  pleased.  He 
could  drink  beyond  belief,  all  sorts  of  things,  with  no 
apparent  ill  effect  upon  either  body  or  brain.  He  had 
all  the  appetites  developed  abnormally,  and  abnormal 
capacity  for  gratifying  them.  Where  there  was  one 
man  who  envied  him  his  eminence,  there  were  a  dozen 
who  envied  him  his  physical  capacities.  We  cannot  live 
and  act  without  doing  mischief,  as  well  as  that  which 
most  of  us  would  rather  do,  provided  that  in  the  doing 
we  are  not  ourselves  undone.  Probably  in  no  direction 
did  Norman  do  so  much  mischief  as  in  unconsciously 
leading  men  of  his  sets  down  town  and  up  to  imitate 
his  colossal  dissipations — which  were  not  dissipation  for 
him  who  was  abnormal. 

Withal,  he  was  a  monster  for  work.  There  is  not 
much  truth  in  men's  unending  talk  of  how  hard  they 
work  or  are  worked.  The  ravages  from  their  indul 
gences  in  smoking,  drinking,  gallantry,  eating  too  much 

11 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  too  fast  and  too  often,  have  to  be  explained  away 
creditably,  to  themselves  and  to  others — notably  to  the 
wives  or  mothers  who  nurse  them  and  suffer  from  their 
diminishing  incomes.  Hence  the  wailing  about  work. 
But  once  in  a  while  a  real  worker  appears — a  man  with 
enormous  ingenuity  at  devising  difficult  tasks  for  him 
self  and  with  enormous  persistence  in  doing  them.  Fred 
erick  Norman  was  one  of  these  blue-moon  prodigies. 

Obviously,  such  a  man  could  not  but  be  observed 
and  talked  about.  Endless  stories,  some  of  them  more 
or  less  true,  most  of  them  apocryphal,  were  told  of  him 
— stories  of  his  shrewd,  unexpected  moves  in  big  cases, 
of  his  witty  retorts,  of  his  generosities,  of  his  peculiar 
ities  of  dress,  of  eating  and  drinking;  stories  of  his 
adventures  with  women.  Whatever  he  did,  however  triv 
ial,  took  color  and  charm  from  his  personality,  so  easy 
yet  so  difficult,  so  simple  yet  so  complex,  so  baffling. 
Was  he  wholly  selfish?  Was  he  a  friend  to  almost  any 
body  or  to  nobody  ?  Did  he  ever  love  ?  No  one  knew, 
not  even  himself,  for  life  interested  him  too  intensely 
and  too  incessantly  to  leave  him  time  for  self-analysis^ 
One  thing  he  was  certain  of;  he  hated  nobody,  envied 
nobody.  He  was  too  successful  for  that. 

He  did  as  he  pleased.  And,  on  the  whole,  he  pleased 
to  do  far  less  inconsiderately  than  his  desires,  his  abil 
ities,  and  his  opportunities  tempted.  Have  not  men 
been  acclaimed  good  for  less? 

In  the  offices,  where  he  was  canvased  daily  by  part- 
12 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ners,  clerks,  everyone  down  to  the  cleaners  whose  labors 
he  so  often  delayed,  opinion  varied  from  day  to  day. 
They  worshiped  him ;  they  hated  him.  They  loved 
him ;  they  feared  him.  They  regarded  him  as  more  than 
human,  as  less  than  human;  but  never  as  just  human — 
though  always  as  endowed  with  fine  human  virtues  and 
even  finer  human  weaknesses.  Miss  Tillotson,  next  to 
the  head  clerk  in  rank  and  pay — and  a  pretty  and 
pushing  young  person — dreamed  of  getting  acquainted 
with  him — really  well  acquainted.  It  was  a  vain  dream. 
For  him,  between  up  town  and  down  town  a  great  gulf- 
was  fixed.  Also,  he  had  no  interest  in  or  ammunition 
for  sparrows. 

It  was  in  December  that  Miss  Hallowell — Miss  Dor 
othea  Hallowell — got  her  temporary  place  at  ten  dol 
lars  a  week — that  obscure  event,  somewhat  like  a 
field  mouse  taking  quarters  in  a  horizon-bounded  grain 
field.  It  was  not  until  mid-February  that  she,  the 
palest  of  personalities,  came  into  direct  contact  with 
Norman,  about  the  most  refulgent.  This  is  how  it 
happened. 

Late  in  that  February  afternoon,  an  hour  or  more 
after  the  last  of  the  office  force  should  have  left,  Nor 
man  threw  open  the  door  of  his  private  office  and  glanced 
round  at  the  rows  on  rows  of  desks.  The  lights  in  the 
big  room  were  on,  apparently  only  because  he  was  still 
within.  With  an  exclamation  of  disappointment  he 
turned  to  reenter  his  office.  He  heard  the  click  of  type- 

13 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


writer  keys.  Again  he  looked  round,  but  could  see 
no  one. 

"  Isn't  there  some  one  here?  "  he  cried.  "  Don't  I 
hear  a  typewriter  ?  " 

The  noise  stopped.  There  was  a  slight  rustling 
from  a  far  corner,  beyond  his  view,  and  presently  he 
saw  advancing  a  slim  and  shrinking  slip  of  a  girl  with 
a  face  that  impressed  him  only  as  small  and  insignificant. 
In  a  quiet  little  voice  she  said,  "  Yes,  sir.  Do  you  wish 
anything?  " 

"  Why,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
don't  think  I've  ever  seen  you  before." 

"  Yes.  I  took  dictation  from  you  several  times," 
replied  she. 

He  was  instantly  afraid  he  might  have  hurt  her  feel 
ings,  and  he,  who  in  the  days  when  he  was  far,  far  less 
than  now,  had  often  suffered  from  that  commonplace 
form  of  brutality,  was  most  careful  not  to  commit  it. 
"  I  never  know  what's  going  on  round  me  when  I'm 
thinking,"  explained  he,  though  he  was  saying  to  him 
self  that  the  next  time  he  would  probably  again  be 
unable  to  remember  one  with  nothing  distinctive  to  fix 
identity.  "  You  are — Miss ?  " 

"  Miss  Hallowell." 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  be  here?  I've  given  par 
ticular  instructions  that  no  one  is  ever  to  be  detained 
after  hours." 

A  little  color  appeared  in  the  pale,  small  face — and 
14 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


now  he  saw  that  she  had  a  singularly  fair  and  smooth 
skin,  singularly  beautiful — and  he  wondered  why  he  had 
not  noticed  it  before.  Being  a  close  observer,  he  had 
long  ago  noted  and  learned  to  appreciate  the  wonders  of 
that  most  amazing  of  tissues,  the  human  skin;  and  he 
had  come  to  be  a  connoisseur.  "  I'm  staying  of  my 
own  accord,"  said  she. 

"  They  ought  not  to  give  you  so  much  work,"  said 
he.  "  I'll  speak  about  it." 

Into  the  small  face  came  the  look  of  the  frightened 
child — a  fascinating  look.  And  suddenly  he  saw  that 
she  had  lovely  eyes,  clear,  expressive,  innocent.  "  Please 
don't,"  she  pleaded,  in  the  gentle  quiet  voice.  "  It  isn't 
overwork.  I  did  a  brief  so  badly  that  I  was  ashamed 
to  hand  it  in.  I'm  doing  it  again." 

He  laughed,  and  a  fine  frank  laugh  he  had  when 
he  was  in  the  mood.  At  once  a  smile  lighted  up  her 
face,  danced  in  her  eyes,  hovered  bewitchingly  about 
her  lips — and  he  wondered  why  he  had  not  at  first 
glance  noted^iow  sweet  and  charmingly  fresh  her  mouth 
was.  "  Why,  she's  beautiful,"  he  said  to  himself,  the 
manly  man's  inevitable  interest  in  feminine  charm  wide 
awake.  "  Really  beautiful.  If  she  had  a  figure — and 
were  tall — "  As  he  thought  thus,  he  glanced  at  her 
figure.  A  figure?  Tall?  She  certainly  was  tall — no, 
she  wasn't — yes,  she  was.  No,  not  tall  from  head  to 
foot,  but  with  the  most  captivating  long  lines — long 
throat,  long  bust,  long  arms,  long  in  body  and  in  legs 

15 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


— long  and  slender — yet  somehow  not  tall.  He — all  this 
took  but  an  instant — returned  his  glance  to  her  face. 
He  was  startled.  The  beauty  had  fled,  leaving  not  a 
trace  behind.  Before  him  wavered  once  more  a  small 
insignificance.  Even  her  skin  now  seemed  commonplace. 

She  was  saying,  "  Did  you  wish  me  to  do  some 
thing?  " 

"  Yes — a  letter.     Come  in,"  he  said  abruptly. 

Once  more  the  business  in  hand  took  possession  of 
his  mind.  He  became  unconscious  of  her  presence.  He 
dictated  slowly,  carefully  choosing  his  words,  for  per 
haps  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then  he  stopped  and  paced 
up  and  down,  revolving  a  new  idea,  a  new  phase  of  the 
business,  that  had  flashed  upon  him.  When  he  had  his 
thoughts  once  more  in  form  he  turned  toward  the  girl, 
the  mere  machine.  He  gazed  at  her  in  amazement. 
When  he  had  last  looked,  he  had  seen  an  uninteresting 
nonentity.  But  that  was  not  this  person,  seated  before 
him  in  the  same  garments  and  with  the  same  general 
blondness.  That  person  had  been  a  girl.  This  time 
the  transformation  was  not  into  the  sweet  innocence  of 
lovely  childhood,  but  into  something  incredibly  differ 
ent.  He  was  gazing  now  at  a  woman,  a  beautiful  world- 
weary  woman,  one  who  had  known  the  joys  and  then 
the  sorrows  of  life  and  love.  Heavy  were  the  lids  of 
the  large  eyes  gazing  mournfully  into  infinity — gazing 
upon  the  graves  of  a  life,  the  long,  long  vista  of  buried 
joys.  Never  had  he  seen  anything  so  sad  or  so  lovely 

16 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


as  her  mouth.  The  soft,  smooth  skin  was  not  merely 
pale;  its  pallor  was  that  of  wakeful  nights,  of  weeping 
until  there  were  no  more  tears  to  drain  away. 

"  Miss  Hallowell— "  he  began. 

She  startled;  and  like  the  flight  of  an  interrupted 
dream,  the  woman  he  had  been  seeing  vanished.  There 
sat  the  commonplace  young  person  he  had  first  seen. 
He  said  to  himself :  "  I  must  be  a  little  off  my  base 
to-night,"  and  went  on  with  the  dictation.  When  he 
finished  she  withdrew  to  transcribe  the  letter  on  the 
typewriter.  He  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  plunged 
into  the  masses  of  documents.  He  lost  the  sense  of  his 
surroundings  until  she  stood  beside  him  holding  the 
typewritten  pages.  He  did  not  glance  up,  but  seized 
the  sheets  to  read  and  sign. 

"  You  may  go,"  said  he.  "  I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you."  And  he  contrived,  as  always,  to  put  a  sug 
gestion  of  genuineness  into  the  customary  phrase. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  not  good  work,"  said  she.  "  I'll 
wait  to  see  if  I  am  to  do  any  of  it  over." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he.  And  he  looked  up — 
to  find  himself  gazing  at  still  another  person,  wholly 
different  from  any  he  had  seen  before.  The  others  had 
all  been  women — womanly  women,  full  of  the  weakness, 
the  delicateness  rather,  that  distinguishes  the  feminine. 
This  woman  he  was  looking  at  now  had  a  look  of 
strength.  He  had  thought  her  frail.  He  was  seeing 
a  strong  woman — a  splendidly  healthy  body,  with  sinews 

17 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


of  steel  most  gracefully  covered  by  that  fair  smooth 
skin  of  hers.  And  her  features,  too — why,  this  girl  was 
a  person  of  character,  of  will. 

He  glanced  through  the  pages.  "  All  right — thank 
you,"  he  said  hastily.  "  Please  don't  stay  any  longer. 
Leave  the  other  thing  till  to-morrow." 

"  No — it  has  to  be  done  to-night." 

"  But  I  insist  upon  your  going." 

She  hesitated,  said  quietly,  "  Very  well,"  and  turned 
to  go. 

"  And  you  mustn't  do  it  at  home,  either." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  waited  respectfully  until  it 
was  evident  he  wished  to  say  no  more,  then  went  out. 
He  bundled  together  his  papers,  sealed  and  stamped 
and  addressed  his  letter,  put  on  his  overcoat  and  hat 
and  crossed  the  outer  office  on  his  way  to  the  door. 
It  was  empty;  she  was  gone.  He  descended  in  the 
elevator  to  the  street,  remembered  that  he  had  not 
locked  one  of  his  private  cases,  returned.  As  he  opened 
the  outer  door  he  heard  the  sound  of  typewriter  keys. 
In  the  corner,  the  obscure,  sheltered  corner,  sat  the  girl, 
bent  with  childlike  gravity  over  her  typewriter.  It 
was  an  amusing  and  a  touching  sight — she  looked  so 
young  and  so  solemnly  in  earnest. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  go  home?  "  he  called  out,  with 
mock  sternness. 

Up  she  sprang,  her  hand  upon  her  heart.  And  once 
more  she  was  beautiful,  but  once  more  it  was  in  a  way 

18 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


startlingly,  unbelievably  different  from  any  expression 
he  had  seen  before. 

"  Now,  really,  Miss — "  He  had  forgotten  her  name. 
"  You  must  not  stay  on  here.  We  aren't  such  slave 
drivers  as  all  that.  Go  home,  please.  I'll  take  the 
responsibility." 

She  had  recovered  her  equanimity.  In  her  quiet, 
gentle  voice — but  it  no  longer  sounded  weak  or  insig 
nificant — she  said,  "  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Norman. 
But  I  must  finish  my  work." 

"  Haven't  I  said  I'd  take  the  blame?  " 

"  But  you  can't,"  replied  she.  "  I  work  badly.  I 
seem  to  learn  slowly.  If  I  fall  behind,  I  shall  lose  my 
place — sooner  or  later.  It  was  that  way  with  the  last 
place  I  had.  If  you  interfered,  you'd  only  injure  me. 
I've  had  experience.  And — I  must  not  lose  my  place." 

One  of  the  scrub  women  thrust  her  mussy  head  and 
ragged,  shapeless  body  in  at  the  door.  With  a  start 
Norman  awoke  to  the  absurdity  of  his  situation — and 
to  the  fact  that  he  was  placing  the  girl  in  a  compromis 
ing  position.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  went  in  £nd 
locked  the  cabinet,  departed. 

"  What  a  queer  little  insignificance  she  is !  "  thought 
he,  and  dismissed  her  from  mind. 


II 


MANY  and  fantastic  are  the  illusions  the  human 
animal,  in  its  ignorance  and  its  optimism,  devises  to 
change  life  from  a  pleasant  journey  along  a  plain  road 
into  a  fumbling  and  stumbling  and  struggling  about 
in  a  fog.  Of  these  hallucinations  the  most  grotesque  is 
that  the  weak  can  come  together,  can  pass  a  law  to  curb 
the  strong,  can  set  one  of  their  number  to  enforce  it, 
may  then  disperse  with  no  occasion  further  to  trouble 
about  the  strong.  Every  line  of  every  page  of  history 
tells  how  the  strong — the  nimble-witted,  the  farsighted, 
the  ambitious — have  worked  their  will  upon  their  feebler 
.and  less  purposeful  fellow  men,  regardless  of  any  and 
all  precautions  to  the  contrary.  Conditions  have  im 
proved  only  because  the  number  of  the  strong  has  in 
creased.  With  so  many  lions  at  war  with  each  other 
not  a  few  rabbits  contrive  to  avoid  perishing  in  the 
nest. 

Norman's  genius  lay  in  ability  to  take  away  from 
an  adversary  the  legal  weapons  implicitly  relied  upon 
and  to  arm  his  client  with  them.  No  man  understood 
better  than  he  the  abysmal  distinction  between  law  and 
justice;  no  man  knew  better  than  he  how  to  compel — 

20 


THE   GR'AIN  OF  DUST 


or  to  assist — courts  to  apply  the  law,  so  just  in  the 
general,  to  promoting  injustice  in  the  particular.  And 
whenever  he  permitted  conscience  a  voice  in  his  internal 
debates — it  was  not  often — he  heard  from  it  its  usual 
servile  approbation:  How  can  the  reign  of  justice  be 
more  speedily  brought  about  than  by  making  the  reign 
of  law — lawyer  law — intolerable? 

About  a  fortnight  after  the  trifling  incident  related 
in  the  previous  chapter,  Norman  had  to  devise  a  secret 
agreement  among  several  of  the  most  eminent  of  his 
clients.  They  wished  to  band  together,  to  do  a  thing 
expressly  forbidden  by  the  law ;  they  wished  to  conspire 
to  lower  wages  and  raise  prices  in  several  railway  sys 
tems  under  their  control.  But  none  would  trust  the 
others ;  so  there  must  be  something  in  writing,  laid  away 
in  a  secret  safety  deposit  box  along  with  sundry  bundles 
of  securities  put  up  as  forfeit,  all  in  the  custody  of 
Norman.  When  he  had  worked  out  in  his  mind  and  in 
fragmentary  notes  the  details  of  their  agreement,  he 
was  ready  for  some  one  to  do  the  clerical  work.  The 
some  one  must  be  absolutely  trustworthy,  as  the  plain 
language  of  the  agreement  would  make  clear  to  the 
dullest  mind  dazzling  opportunities  for  profit — not  only 
in  stock  jobbing  but  also  in  blackmail.  He  rang  for 
Tetlow,  the  head  clerk.  Tetlow — smooth  and  sly  and 
smug,  lacking  only  courageous  initiative  to  make  him  a 
great  lawyer,  but,  lacking  that,  lacking  all — Tetlow 
entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

21 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman  leaned  back  in  his  desk  chair  and  laced  his 
fingers  behind  his  head.  "  One  of  your  typewriters  is 
a  slight  blonde  girl — sits  in  the  corner  to  the  far  left — 
if  she's  still  here." 

"  Miss  Hallowell,"  said  Tetlow.  "  We  are  letting 
her  go  at  the  end  of  this  week.  She's  nice  and  ladylike, 
and  willing — in  fact,  most  anxious  to  please.  But  the 
work's  too  difficult  for  her.  She's  rather — rather — well, 
not  exactly  stupid,  but  slow." 

"  Um,"  said  Norman  reflectively.  "  There's  Miss 
Bostwick — perhaps  she'll  do." 

"  Miss  Bostwick  got  married  last  week." 

Norman  smiled.  He  remembered  the  girl  because 
she  was  the  oldest  and  homeliest  in  the  office.  "  There's 
somebody  for  everybody — eh,  Tetlow?" 

66  He  was  a  lighthouse  keeper,"  said  Tetlow. 
"  There's  a  story  that  he  advertised  for  a  wife.  But 
that  may  be  a  joke." 

"  Why  not  that  Miss — Miss  Halloway  ?  "  mused 
Norman. 

"  Miss  Hallowell,"  corrected  Tetlow. 

"  Hallowell — yes.    Is  she — -very  incompetent? 

"  Not  exactly  that.  But  business  is  slackening — 
and  she's  been  only  temporary — and " 

Norman  cut  him  off  with,  "  Send  her  in." 

"  You  don't  wish  her  dismissed  ?  I  haven't  told 
her  yet." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  interfering  in  your  department.     Do 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


as  you  like.  .  .  .  No — in  this  case — let  her  stay  on  for 
the  present." 

"  I  can  use  her,"  said  Tetlow.  "  And  she  gets  only 
ten  a  week." 

Norman  frowned.  He  did  not  like  to  hear  that  an 
establishment  in  which  he  had  control  paid  less  than 
decent  living  wages — even  if  the  market  price  did  ex 
cuse — yes,  compel  it.  "  Send  her  in,"  he  repeated. 
Then,  as  Tetlow  was  about  to  leave,  "  She  is  trust 
worthy?" 

"  All  our  force  is.    I  see  to  that,  Mr.  Norman." 

"  Has  she  a  young  man — steady  company,  I  think 
they  call  it?55 

"  She  has  no  friends  at  all.  She's  extremely  shy — 
at  least,  reserved.  Lives  with  her  father,  an  old  crank 
of  an  analytical  chemist  over  in  Jersey  City.  She  hasn't 
even  a  lady  friend." 

"  Well,  send  her  in." 

A  moment  later  Norman,  looking  up  from  his  work, 
saw  the  dim  slim  nonentity  before  him.  Again  he  leaned 
back  and,  as  he  talked  with  her,  studied  her  face  to 
make  sure  that  his  first  judgment  was  correct.  "  Do 
you  stay  late  every  night  ?  "  asked  he  smilingly. 

She  colored  a  little,  but  enough  to  bring  out  the  ex 
quisite  fineness  of  her  white  skin.  "  Oh,  I  don't  mind," 
said  she,  and  there  was  no  embarrassment  in  her  man 
ner.  "  I've  got  to  learn — and  doing  things  over 
helps." 

m 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Nothing  equal  to  it,"  declared  Norman.  "  You've 
been  to  school  ?  " 

"  Only  six  weeks,"  confessed  she.  "  I  couldn't  afford 
to  stay  longer." 

"  I  mean  the  other  sort  of  school — not  the  type 
writing." 

"Oh!  Yes,"  said  she.  And  once  more  he  saw  that 
extraordinary  transformation.  She  became  all  in  an 
instant  delicately,  deliciously  lovely,  with  the  moving, 
in  a  way  pathetic  loveliness  of  sweet  children  and  sweet 
flowers.  Her  look  was  mystery ;  but  not  a  mystery  of 
guile.  She  evidently  did  not  wish  to  have  her  past 
brought  to  view;  but  it  was  equally  apparent  that  be 
hind  it  lay  hid  nothing  shameful,  only  the  sad,  perhaps 
the  painful.  Of  all  the  periods  of  life  youth  is  the  best 
fitted  to  bear  deep  sorrows,  for  then  the  spirit  has  its 
full  measure  of  elasticity.  Yet  a  shadow  upon  youth 
is  always  more  moving  than  the  shadows  of  maturer 
years — those  shadows  that  do  not  lie  upon  the  surface 
but  are  heavy  and  corroding  stains.  When  Norman 
saw  this  shadow  upon  her  youth,  so  immature-looking, 
so  helpless-looking,  he  felt  the  first  impulse  of  genuine 
interest  in  her.  Perhaps,  had  that  shadow  happened 
to  fall  when  he  was  seeing  her  as  the  commonplace  and 
colorless  little  struggler  for  bread,  and  seeming  doomed 
speedily  to  be  worsted  in  the  struggle — perhaps,  he 
would  have  felt  no  interest,  but  only  the  brief  qualm 
of  pity  that  we  dare  not  encourage  in  ourselves,  on  a 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


journey  so  beset  with  hopeless  pitiful  things  as  is  the 
journey  through  life. 

But  he  had  no  impulse  to  question  her.  And  with 
some  surprise  he  noted  that  his  reason  for  refraining 
was  not  the  usual  reason — unwillingness  uselessly  to  add 
to  one's  own  burdens  by  inviting  the  mournful  con 
fidences  of  another.  No,  he  checked  himself  because  in 
the  manner  of  this  frail  and  mouselike  creature,  dim 
though  she  once  more  was,  there  appeared  a  dignity,  a 
reserve,  that  made  intrusion  curiously  impossible.  With 
an  apologetic  note  in  his  voice — a  kind  and  friendly 
voice — he  said: 

"  Please  have  your  typewriter  brought  in  here.  I 
want  you  to  do  some  work  for  me — work  that  isn't  to  be 
spoken  of — not  even  to  Mr.  Tetlow."  He  looked  at 
her  with  grave  penetrating  eyes.  "  You  will  not  speak 


of  it?" 


"  No,"  replied  she,  and  nothing  more.  But  she 
accompanied  the  simple  negative  with  a  clear  and  hon 
est  sincerity  of  the  eyes  that  set  his  mind  completely 
at  rest.  He  felt  that  this  girl  had  never  in  her  life  told 
a  real  lie. 

One  of  the  office  boys  installed  the  typewriter,  and 
presently  Norman  and  the  quiet  nebulous  girl  at  whom 
no  one  would  trouble  to  look  a  second  time  were  seated 
opposite  each  other  with  the  broad  table  desk  between, 
he  leaning  far  back  in  his  desk  chair,  fingers  interlocked 
behind  his  proud,  strong-looking  head,  she  holding 

25 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


sharpened  pencil  suspended  over  the  stenographic  note 
book.  Long  before  she  seated  herself  he  had  forgotten 
her  except  as  machine.  There  followed  a  troubled  hour, 
as  he  dictated,  ordered  erasure,  redictated,  ordered  re- 
readings,  skipped  back  and  forth,  in  the  effort  to  frame 
the  secret  agreement  in  the  fewest  and  simplest,  and 
least  startlingly  unlawful,  words.  At  last  he  leaned 
forward  with  the  shine  of  triumph  in  his  eyes. 

"  Read  straight  through,"  he  commanded. 

She  read,  interrupted  occasionally  by  a  sharp  order 
from  him  to  correct  some  mistake  in  her  notes. 

"  Again,"  he  commanded,  when  she  translated  the 
last  of  her  notes. 

This  time  she  was  not  interrupted  once.  When  she 
ended,  he  exclaimed :  "  Good !  I  don't  see  how  you  did 
it  so  well." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  she. 

"  You  say  you  are  only  a  beginner." 

"  I  couldn't  have  done  it  so  well  for  anyone  else," 
said  she.  "  You  are — different." 

The  remark  was  worded  most  flatteringly,  but  it  did 
not  sound  so.  He  saw  that  she  did  not  herself  under 
stand  what  she  meant  by  "  different."  He  understood, 
for  he  knew  the  difference  between  the  confused  and  con 
fusing  ordinary  minds  and  such  an  intelligence  as  his 
own — simple,  luminous,  enlightening  all  minds,  however 
dark,  so  long  as  they  were  in  the  light-flooded  region 
around  it. 

M 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Have  I  made  the  meaning  clear  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  hoped  she  would  reply  that  he  had  not,  though 
this  would  have  indicated  a  partial  defeat  in  the  object 
he  had — to  put  the  complex  thing  so  plainly  that  no 
one  could  fail  to  understand.  But  she  answered,  "  Yes." 

He  congratulated  himself  that  his  overestimate  of 
her  ignorance  of  affairs  had  not  lured  him  into  giving 
her  the  names  of  the  parties  at  interest  to  transcribe. 
But  did  she  really  understand?  To  test  her,  he  said: 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  That  it's  wicked,"  replied  she,  without  hesitation 
and  in  her  small,  quiet  voice. 

He  laughed.  In  a  way  this  girl,  sitting  there — 
this  inconsequential  and  negligible  atom — typefied  the 
masses  of  mankind  against  whom  that  secret  agreement 
was  directed.  They,  the  feeble  and  powerless  ones,  with 
their  necks  ever  bent  under  the  yoke  of  the  mighty  and 
their  feet  ever  stumbling  into  the  traps  of  the  crafty — 
they,  too,  would  utter  an  impotent  "  Wicked ! "  if  they 
knew.  His  voice  had  the  note  of  gentle  raillery  in  it 
as  he  said: 

"  No — not  wicked.     Just  business." 

She  was  looking  down  at  her  book,  her  face  ex 
pressionless.  A  few  moments  before  he  would  have  said 
it  was  an  empty  face.  Now  it  seemed  to  him  sphynxlike. 

"  Just  business,"  he  repeated.  "  It  is  going  to  take 
money  from  those  who  don't  know  how  to  keep  or  to 
spend  it  and  give  it  to  those  who  do  know  how.  The 
3  27 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


money  will  go  for  building  up  civilization,  instead  of 
for  beer  and  for  bargain-trough  finery  to  make  work 
ing  men's  wives  and  daughters  look  cheap  and  nasty." 

She  was  silent. 

"  Now,  do  you  understand?  " 

"  I  understand  what  you  said."  She  looked  at  him 
as  she  spoke.  He  wondered  how  he  could  have  fancied 
those  lack-luster  eyes  beautiful  or  capable  of  expression. 

"  You  don't  believe  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  she.  And  suddenly  in  those  eyes,  gaz 
ing  now  into  space,  there  came  the  unutterably  melan 
choly  look — heavy-lidded  from  heartache,  weary-wise 
from  long,  long  and  bitter,  experiences.  Yet  she  still 
looked  young — girlishly  young — but  it  was  the  youth 
ful  look  the  classic  Greek  sculptors  tried  to  give  their 
young  goddesses — the  youth  without  beginning  or  end — 
younger  than  a  baby's,  older  than  the  oldest  of  the  sons 
of  men.  He  mocked  himself  for  the  fancies  this  queer 
creature  inspired  in  him;  but  she  none  the  less  made 
him  uneasy. 

"  You  don't  believe  it?  "  he  repeated. 

"  No,"  she  answered  again.  "  My  father  has  taught 
me — some  things." 

He  drummed  impatiently  on  the  table.  He  resented 
her  impertinence — for,  like  all  men  of  clear  and  positive 
mind,  he  regarded  contradiction  as  in  one  aspect  im 
pudent,  in  another  aspect  evidence  of  the  folly  of  his 
contradictor.  Then  he  gave  a  short  laugh — the  confess- 

28 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ing  laugh  of  the  clever  man  who  has  tried  to  believe  his 
own  sophistries  and  has  failed.  "  Well — neither  do  I 
believe  it,"  said  he.  "  Now,  to  get  the  thing  type 
written." 

She  seated  herself  at  the  machine  and  set  to  work. 
As  his  mind  was  full  of  the  agreement  he  could  not 
concentrate  on  anything  else.  From  time  to  time  he 
glanced  at  her.  Then  he  gave  up  trying  to  work  and 
sat  furtively  observing  her.  What  a  quaint  little 
mystery  it  was!  There  was  in  it — that  is,  in  her — 
not  the  least  charm  for  him.  But,  in  all  his  experience 
with  women,  he  could  recall  no  woman  with  a  compar 
able  development  of  this  curious  quality  of  multiple 
personalities,  showing  and  vanishing  in  swift  succession. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  woman  had  interested 
him  as  a  puzzle  to  be  worked  out,  a  maze  to  be  explored, 
a  temple  to  be  penetrated — until  one  reached  the  place 
where  the  priests  manipulated  the  machinery  for  the 
wonders  and  miracles  to  fool  the  devotees  into  awe. 
Some  men  never  get  to  this  stage,  never  realize  that 
their  own  passions,  working  upon  the  universal  human 
love  of  the  mysterious,  are  wholly  responsible  for  the 
cult  of  woman  the  sphynx  and  the  sibyl.  But  Norman, 
beloved  of  women,  had  been  let  by  them  into  their 
ultimate  secret — the  simple  humanness  of  woman;  the 
clap-trappery  of  the  oracles,  miracles,  and  wonders.  He 
had  discovered  that  her  "  divine  intuitions  "  were  mere 
shrewd  guesses,  where  they  had  any  meaning  at  all; 

29 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


that  her  eloquent  silences  were  screens  for  ignorance  or 
boredom — and  so  on  through  the  list  of  legends  that 
prop  the  feminist  cult. 

But  this  girl — this  Miss  Hallowell — here  was  a 
tangible  mystery — a  mystery  of  physics,  of  chemistry. 
He  sat  watching  her — watching  the  changes  as  she  bent 
to  her  work,  or  relaxed,  or  puzzled  over  the  meaning 
of  one  of  her  own  hesitating  stenographic  hieroglyphics 
— watched  her  as  the  waning  light  of  the  afternoon 
varied  its  intensity  upon  her  skin.  Why,  her  very  hair 
partook  of  this  magical  quality  and  altered  its  tint, 
its  degree  of  vitality  even,  in  harmony  with  the  other 
changes.  .  .  .  What  was  the  explanation?  By  means  of 
what  rare  mechanism  did  her  nerve  force  ebb  and  flow 
from  moment  to  moment,  bringing  about  these  fascinat 
ing  surface  changes  in  her  body  ?  Could  anything,  even 
any  skin,  be  better  made  than  that  superb  skin  of  hers 
— that  master  work  of  delicacy  and  strength,  of  smooth 
ness  and  color?  How  had  it  been  possible  for  him  to 
fail  to  notice  it,  when  he  was  always  looking  for  signs 
of  a  good  skin  down  town — and  up  town,  too — in  these 
days  of  the  ravages  of  pastry  and  candy?  .  .  .  What 
long  graceful  fingers  she  had — yet  what  small  hands ! 
Certainly  here  was  a  peculiarity  that  persisted.  No — 
absurd  though  it  seemed,  no!  One  way  he  looked  at 
those  hands,  they  were  broad  and  strong,  another  way 
narrow  and  gracefully  weak. 

He  said  to  himself :  "  The  man  who  gets  that  girl 
30 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


will  have  Solomon's  wives  rolled  into  one.  A  harem  at 
the  price  of  a  wife — or  a — "  He  left  the  thought 
unfinished.  It  seemed  an  insult  to  this  helpless  little 
creature,  the  more  rather  than  the  less  cowardly  for 
being  unspoken;  for,  no  doubt  her  ideas  of  propriety 
were  firmly  conventional. 

"  About  done  ?  "  he  asked  impatiently. 

She  glanced  up.  "  In  a  moment.  I'm  sorry  to  be 
so  slow." 

"  You're  not,"  he  assured  her  truthfully.  "  It's  my 
impatience.  Let  me  see  the  pages  you've  finished." 

With  them  he  was  able  to  concentrate  his  mind. 
When  she  laid  the  last  page  beside  his  arm  he  was 
absorbed,  did  not  look  at  her,  did  not  think  of  her. 
"  Take  the  machine  away,"  said  he  abruptly. 

He  was  leaving  for  the  day  when  he  remembered  her 
again.  He  sent  for  her.  "  I  forgot  to  thank  you.  It 
was  good  work.  You  will  do  well.  All  you  need  is 
practice — and  confidence.  Especially  confidence."  He 
looked  at  her.  She  seemed  frail — touchingly  frail. 
"  You  are  not  strong  ?  " 

She  smiled,  and  in  an  instant  the  frailty  seemed 
to  have  been  mere  delicacy  of  build — the  delicacy  that 
goes  with  the  strength  of  steel  wires,  or  rather  of  the 
spider's  weaving  thread  which  sustains  weights  and 
shocks  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  appearance.  "  I've 
never  been  ill  in  my  life,"  said  she.  "  Not  a  day." 

Again,  because  she  was  standing  before  him  in  full 
31 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


view,  he  noted  the  peculiar  construction  of  her  frame — 
the  beautiful  lines  of  length  so  dextrously  combined  that 
her  figure  as  a  whole  was  not  tall.  He  said,  "  A  work 
ing  woman — or  man — needs  health  above  all.  Thank 
you  again."  And  he  nodded  a  somewhat  curt  dismissal. 
When  she  glided  away  and  he  was  alone  behind  the 
closed  door,  he  reflected  for  a  moment  upon  the  extra 
ordinary  amount  of  thinking — and  the  extraordinary 
kind  of  thinking — into  which  this  poor  little  typewriter 
girl  had  beguiled  him.  He  soon  found  the  explanation 
for  this  vagary  into  a  realm  so  foreign  to  a  man  of  his 
high  tastes  and  ambitions.  "  It's  because  I'm  so  in 
love  with  Josephine,"  he  decided.  "  I've  fallen  into  the 
sentimental  state  of  all  lovers.  The  whole  sex  becomes 
novel  and  interesting  and  worth  while." 

As  he  left  the  office,  unusually  late,  he  saw  her  still 
at  work — no  doubt  doing  over  again  some  bungled  piece 
of  copying.  She  had  her  normal  and  natural  look  and 
air — the  atomic  little  typewriter,  unattractive  and  un 
interesting.  With  another  smile  for  his  romantic  imag 
inings,  he  forgot  her.  But  when  he  reached  the  street 
he  remembered  her  again.  The  threatened  blizzard  had 
changed  into  a  heavy  rain.  The  swift  and  sudden  cur 
rents  of  air,  that  have  made  of  New  York  a  cave  of  the 
winds  since  the  coming  of  the  skyscrapers,  were  darting 
round  corners,  turning  umbrellas  inside  out,  tossing 
women's  skirts  about  their  heads,  reducing  all  who  were 
abroad  to  the  same  level  of  drenched  and  sullen  wretched- 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ness.  Norman's  limousine  was  waiting  at  the  curb. 
He,  pausing  in  the  doorway,  glanced  up  and  down  the 
street,  had  an  impulse  to  return  and  take  the  girl  home. 
Then  he  smiled  satirically  at  himself.  Her  lot  con 
demned  her  to  be  out  in  all  weathers.  It  would  not  be 
a  kindness  but  an  exhibition  of  smug  vanity  to  shelter 
her  this  one  night;  also,  there  was  the  question  of  her 
reputation — and  the  possibility  of  turning  her  head, 
perhaps  just  enough  to  cause  her  ruin.  He  sprang 
across  the  wind-swept,  rain-swept  sidewalk  and  into  the 
limousine  whose  door  was  being  held  open  by  an  obse 
quious  attendant.  "  Home,"  he  said,  and  the  door 
slammed. 

Usually  these  journeys  between  office  and  home  or 
club  in  the  evening  gave  Norman  a  chance  for  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes  of  sleep.  He  had  discovered  that  this 
brief  dropping  of  the  thread  of  consciousness  gave  him 
a  wonderful  fresh  grip  upon  the  day,  enabled  him  to 
work  or  play  until  late  into  the  night  without  fatigue. 
But  that  evening  his  mind  was  wide  awake.  Nor  could 
he  fix  it  upon  business.  It  would  interest  itself  only  in 
the  hurrying  throngs  of  foot  passengers  and  the  ideas 
they  suggested:  Here  am  I — so  ran  his  thoughts — here 
am  I,  tucked  away  comfortably  while  all  those  poor 
creatures  have  to  plod  along  in  the  storm.  I  could 
afford  to  be  sick.  They  can't.  And  what  have  I  done 
to  deserve  this  good  fortune?  Nothing.  Worse  than 
nothing.  If  I  had  made  my  career  along  the  lines  of 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


what  is  honest  and  right  and  beneficial  to  my  fellow 
men,  I'd  probably  be  plugging  home  under  an  umbrella 
— and  to  a  pretty  poor  excuse  for  a  home.  But  I  was 
too  wise  to  do  that.  I've  spent  this  day,  as  I  spend  all 
my  days,  in  helping  the  powerful  rich  to  add  to  their 
wealth  and  power,  to  add  to  the  burdens  those  poor 
devils  out  there  in  the  rain  must  bear.  And  I'm  re 
warded  with  a  limousine,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 

These  thoughts  neither  came  from  nor  produced  a 
mood  of  penitence,  or  of  regret  even.  Norman  was 
simply  indulging  in  his  favorite  pastime — following 
without  prejudice  the  leading  of  a  chain  of  pure  logic. 
He  despised  self -deceivers.  He  always  kept  himself  free 
from  prejudice  and  all  its  wiles.  He  took  life  as  he 
found  it ;  but  he  did  not  excuse  it  and  himself  with  the 
familiar  hypocrisies  that  make  the  comfortable  classes 
preen  themselves  on  being  the  guardians  and  saviours 
of  the  ignorant,  incapable  masses.  When  old  Lockyer 
said  one  day  that  this  was  the  function  of  the  "  upper 
classes,"  Norman  retorted :  "  Perhaps.  But,  if  so,  how 
do  they  perform  it  ?  Like  the  brutal  old-fashioned  farm 
family  that  takes  care  of  its  insane  member  by  keeping 
him  chained  in  filth  in  the  cellar."  And  once  at  the 
Federal  Club —  By  the  way,  Norman  had  joined  it,  had 
compelled  it  to  receive  him  just  to  show  his  associates 
how  a  strong  man  could  break  even  such  a  firmly  estab 
lished  tradition  as  that  no  one  who  amounted  to  any 
thing  could  be  elected  to  a  fashionable  club  in  New 

34 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


York.  Once  at  the  Federal  Club  old  Galloway  quoted 
with  approval  some  essayist's  remark  that  every  clever 
human  being  was  looking  after  and  holding  above  the 
waves  at  least  fifteen  of  his  weaker  fellows.  Norman 
smiled  satirically  round  at  the  complacently  nodding 
circle  of  gray  heads  and  white  heads.  "  My  observation 
has  been,"  said  he,  "  that  every  clever  chap  is  shrewd 
enough  to  compel  at  least  fifteen  of  his  fellows  to  wait 
on  him,  to  take  care  of  him — do  his  chores — and  his 
dirty  work."  The  nodding  stopped.  Scowls  appeared, 
except  on  the  face  of  old  Galloway.  He  grinned.  He 
was  one  of  the  few  examples  of  a  very  rich  man  with  a 
sense  of  humor.  Norman  always  thought  it  was  this 
slight  incident  that  led  to  his  getting  the  extremely 
profitable — and  shady — Galloway  business. 

No,  Norman's  mood,  as  he  watched  the  miserable 
crowds  afoot  and  reflected  upon  them,  was  neither  re 
morseful  nor  triumphant.  He  simply  noted  an  interest 
ing  fact — a  commonplace  fact — of  the  methods  of  that 
sardonic  practical  joker,  Life.  Because  the  scheme  of 
things  was  unjust  and  stupid,  because  others,  most 
others,  were  uncomfortable  or  worse — why  should  he 
make  himself  uncomfortable?  It  would  be  an  absurdity 
to  get  out  of  his  limousine  and  trudge  along  in  the 
wet  and  the  wind.  It  would  be  equally  absurd  to  sit  in 
his  limousine  and  be  unhappy  about  the  misery  of  the 
world.  "  I  didn't  create  it,  and  I  can't  recreate  it. 
And  if  I'm  helping  to  make  it  worse,  I'm  also  hastening 

35 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  time  when  it'll  be  better.  The  Great  Ass  must  have 
brains  and  spirit  kicked  and  cudgeled  into  it." 

At  his  house  in  Madison  Avenue,  just  at  the  crest 
of  Murray  Hill,  there  was  an  awning  from  front  door 
to  curb  and  a  carpet  beneath  it.  He  passed,  dry  and 
comfortable,  up  the  steps.  A  footman  in  quiet  rich 
livery  was  waiting  to  receive  him.  From  rising  until 
bedtime,  up  town  and  down  town,  wherever  he  went 
and  whatever  he  was  about,  every  possible  menial  detail 
of  his  life  was  done  for  him.  He  had  nothing  to  do 
but  think  about  his  own  work  and  keep  himself  in  health. 
Rarely  did  he  have  even  to  open  or  to  close  a  door.  He 
used  a  pen  only  in  signing  his  name  or  marking  a  pas 
sage  in  a  law  book  for  some  secretary  to  make  a  type 
written  copy. 

Upon  most  human  beings  this  sort  of  luxury,  car 
ried  beyond  the  ordinary  and  familiar  uses  of  menial 
service,  has  a  speedily  enervating  effect.  Thinking 
being  the  most  onerous  of  all,  they  have  it  done,  also. 
They  sink  into  silliness  and  moral  and  mental  sloth. 
They  pass  the  time  at  foolish  purposeless  games  indoors 
and  out ;  or  they  wander  aimlessly  about  the  earth  chat 
tering  with  similar  mental  decrepits,  much  like  monkeys 
adrift  in  the  boughs  of  a  tropical  forest.  But  Norman 
had  the  tenacity  and  strength  to  concentrate  upon 
achievement  all  the  powers  emancipated  by  the  use  of 
menials  wherever  menials  could  be  used.  He  employed 
to  advantage  the  time  saved  in  putting  in  shirt  buttons 


THE    GRAIN    OF   DUST 


and  lacing  shoes  and  carrying  books  to  and  from 
shelves.  In  this  lay  one  of  the  important  secrets  of  his 
success.  "  Never  do  for  yourself  what  you  can  get  some 
one  else  to  do  for  you  as  well.  Save  yourself  for  the 
things  only  you  can  do." 

In  his  household  there  were  three  persons,  and  six 
teen  servants  to  wait  upon  them.  His  sister — she  and 
her  husband,  Clayton  Fitzhugh,  were  the  other  two  per 
sons — his  sister  was  always  complaining  that  there  were 
not  enough  servants,  and  Frederick,  the  most  indulgent 
of  brothers,  was  always  letting  her  add  to  the  number. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  more  help  there  was,  the  less 
smoothly  the  household  ran.  But  that  did  not  concern 
him ;  his  mind  was  saved  for  more  important  matters. 
There  was  no  reason  why  it  should  concern  him;  could 
he  not  compel  the  dollars  to  flood  in  faster  than  she 
could  bail  them  out? 

This  brother  and  sister  had  come  to  New  York 
fifteen  years  before,  when  he  was  twenty-two  and  she 
nineteen.  They  were  from  Albany,  where  their  family 
had  possessed  some  wealth  and  much  social  position  for 
many  generations.  There  was  the  usual  "  queer  streak  " 
in  the  Norman  family — an  intermittent  but  fixed  habit 
of  some  one  of  them  making  a  "  low  marriage."  One 
view  of  this  aberration  might  have  been  that  there  was 
in  the  Norman  blood  a  tenacious  instinct  of  sturdy  and 
self-respecting  independence  that  caused  a  Norman  oc 
casionally  to  do  as  he  pleased  instead  of  as  he  conven- 

37 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


tionally  ought.  Each  time  the  thing  occurred  there 
was  a  mighty  and  horrified  hubbub  throughout  the 
connection.  But  in  the  broad,  as  the  custom  is,  the 
Normans  were  complacent  about  the  "  queer  streak." 
They  thought  it  kept  the  family  from  rotting  out  and 
running  to  seed.  "  Nothing  like  an  occasional  infusion 
of  common  blood,"  Aunt  Ursula  Van  Bruyten  (born 
Norman)  used  to  say.  For  her  Norman's  sister  was 
named. 

Norman's  father  had  developed  the  "  queer  streak." 
Their  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  small  farmer  and, 
when  she  met  their  father,  was  chambermaid  in  a  Troy 
hotel,  Troy  then  being  a  largish  village.  As  soon  as  she 
found  herself  married  and  in  a  position  with  whose  duties 
she  was  unfamiliar,  she  set  about  fitting  herself  for  them 
with  the  same  diligence  and  thoroughness  which  she  had 
shown  in  learning  chamber  work  in  a  village  hotel.  She 
educated  herself,  selected  not  without  shrewdness  and 
carefully  put  on  an  assortment  of  genteel  airs,  finally  con 
trived  to  make  a  most  creditable  appearance — was  more 
aristocratic  in  tastes  and  in  talk  than  the  high  mightiest 
of  her  relatives  by  marriage.  But  her  son  Fred  was  a 
Pinkey  in  character.  In  boyhood  he  was  noted  for  his 
rough  and  low  associates.  His  bosom  friends  were  the 
son  of  a  Jewish  junk  dealer,  the  son  of  a  colored  wash 
woman,  and  the  son  of  an  Irish  day  laborer.  Also,  the 
commonness  persisted  as  he  grew  up.  Instead  of  seek 
ing  aristocratic  ease,  he  aspired  to  a  career.  He  had 

38 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


choice  of  several  rich  and  well-born  girls;  but  he  de 
veloped  a  strong  distaste  for  marriage  of  any  sort  and 
especially  for  a  rich  marriage.  A  fortune  he  was  re 
solved  to  have,  but  it  should  be  one  that  belonged  to 
him.  When  he  was  about  ready  to  enter  a  law  office,  his 
father  and  mother  died  leaving  less  than  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  all  for  his  sister  and  himself.  His  sister 
hesitated,  half  inclined  to  marry  a  stupid  second  cousin 
who  had  thirty  thousand  a  year. 

"  Don't  do  it,  Ursula,"  Fred  advised.  "  If  you  must 
sell  out,  sell  for  something  worth  while."  He  laughed 
in  his  frank,  ironical  way.  "  Fact  is,  we've  both  made 
up  our  minds  to  sell.  Let's  go  to  the  best  market — 
New  York.  If  you  don't  like  it,  you  can  come  back  and 
marry  that  fat-wit  any  time  you  please." 

Ursula  inspected  herself  in  the  glass,  saw  a  face  and 
form  exceeding  fair  to  look  upon;  she  decided  to  take 
her  brother's  advice.  At  twenty  she  threw  over  a  multi 
millionaire  and  married  Clayton  Fitzhugh  for  love — 
Clayton  with  only  seventeen  thousand  a  year.  Of 
course,  from  the  standpoint  of  fashionable  ambition, 
seventeen  thousand  a  year  in  New  York  is  but  one  re 
move  from  tenement  house  poverty.  As  Clayton  had 
no  more  ability  at  making  money  than  had  Ursula  her 
self,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  live  with  Norman  and 
"  take  care  of  him."  But  for  this  self-sacrifice  of  sis 
terly  affection  Norman  would  have  been  rich  at  thirty- 
seven.  As  he  had  to  make  her  rich  as  well  as  himself, 

39 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


progress  toward  luxurious  independence  was  slower — 
and  there  was  the  house,  costing  nearly  fifty  thousand 
a  year  to  keep  up. 

There  had  been  a  time  in  Norman's  career — a  brief 
and  very  early  time — when,  with  the  maternal  peasant 
blood  hot  in  his  veins,  he  had  entertained  the  quixotic 
idea  of  going  into  politics  on  the  poor  or  people's  side 
and  fighting  for  glory  only.  The  pressure  of  expensive 
living  had  soon  driven  this  notion  clean  off.  Norman 
had  almost  forgotten  that  he  ever  had  it,  was  no  longer 
aware  how  strong  it  had  been  in  the  last  year  at  law 
school.  Young  men  of  high  intelligence  and  ardent 
temperament  always  pass  through  this  period.  With 
some — a  few — its  glory  lingers  long  after  the  fire  has 
flickered  out  before  the  cool,  steady  breath  of  world- 
liness. 

All  this  time  Norman  has  been  dressing  for  dinner. 
He  now  leaves  the  third  floor  and  descends  toward  the 
library,  as  it  still  lacks  twenty  minutes  of  the  dinner 
hour. 

As  he  walked  along  the  hall  of  the  second  floor  a 
woman's  voice  called  to  him,  "  That  you,  Fred?  " 

He  turned  in  at  his  sister's  sitting  room.  She  was 
standing  at  a  table  smoking  a  cigarette.  Her  tall,  slim 
figure  looked  even  taller  and  slimmer  in  the  tight-fitting 
black  satin  evening  dress.  Her  features  faintly  sug 
gested  her  relationship  to  Norman.  She  was  a  hand 
some  woman,  with  a  voluptuous  discontented  mouth. 

40 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  What  are  you  worried  about,  sis  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  worried?  "  returned  she. 

"  You  always  are." 

"Oh!" 

"  But  you're  unusually  worried  to-night." 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " 

"  You  never  smoke  just  before  dinner  unless  your 
nerves  are  ragged.  .  .  .  What  is  it?  " 

"  Money." 

"  Of  course.  No  one  in  New  York  worries  about 
anything  else." 

"  But  this  is  serious,"  protested  she.  "  I've  been 
thinking — about  your  marriage — and  what'll  become  of 
Clayton  and  me  ?  "  She  halted,  red  with  embarrassment. 

Norman  lit  a  cigarette  himself.  "  I  ought  to  have 
explained,"  said  he.  "  But  I  assumed  you'd  under 
stand." 

"  Fred,  you  know  Clayton  can't  make  anything. 
And  when  you  marry — why — what  will  become  of  us !  " 

"  I've  been  taking  care  of  Clayton's  money — and  of 
yours.  I'll  continue  to  do  it.  I  think  you'll  find  you're 
not  so  badly  off.  You  see,  my  position  enables  me  to 
compel  a  lot  of  the  financiers  to  let  me  in  on  the  ground 
floor — and  to  warn  me  in  good  time  before  the  house 
falls.  You'll  not  miss  me,  Ursula." 

She  showed  her  gratitude  in  her  eyes,  in  a  slight 
quiver  of  the  lips,  in  an  unsteadiness  of  tone  as  she  said, 
"  You're  the  real  thing,  Freddie." 

41 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You  can  go  right  on  as  you  are  now.  Only — " 
He  was  looking  at  her  with  meaning  directness. 

She  moved  uneasily,  refused  to  meet  his  gaze. 
"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  suggestion  of  defiance. 

"  It's  all  very  natural  to  get  tired  of  Clayton,"  said 
her  brother.  "  I  knew  you  would  when  you  married 
him.  But —  Sis,  I  mind  my  own  business.  Still — 
Why  make  a  fool  of  yourself?  " 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  exclaimed  passionately. 
And  the  light  in  her  eyes,  the  color  in  her  cheeks,  restored 
to  her  for  the  moment  the  beauty  of  her  youth  that  was 
almost  gone. 

"  Understand  what  ?  "  inquired  he  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
mockery. 

"  Love.  You  are  all  ambition — all  self-control.  You 
can  be  affectionate — God  knows,  you  have  been  to  me, 
Fred.  But  love  you  know  nothing  about — nothing." 

His  was  the  smile  a  man  gives  when  in  earnest  and 
wishing  to  be  thought  jesting — or  when  in  jest  and 
wishing  to  be  thought  in  earnest. 

"You  mean  Josephine?  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  you 
do  care  for  her  in  a  way — in  a  nice,  conventional  way. 
She  is  a  fine  handsome  piece — just  the  sort  to  fill  the 
position  of  wife  to  a  man  like  you.  She's  sweet  and 
charming,  she  appreciates,  she  flatters  you.  I'm  sure 
she  loves  you  as  much  as  a  girl  knows  how  to  love.  But 
it's  all  so  conventional,  so  proper.  Your  position — her 
money.  You  two  are  of  the  regulation  type  even  in 

42 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


that  you're  suited  to  each  other  in  height  and  fig 
ure.  Everybody'll  say,  '  What  a  fine  couple — so  well 
matched !'  " 

"  Maybe  you  don't  understand,"  said  Norman. 

"  If  Josephine  were  poor  and  low-born — weren't  one 
of  us — and  all  that — would  you  have  her  ?  " 

*  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  was  his  prompt  and  amused 
answer.  "  I  can  only  say  that  I  know  what  I  want,  she 
being  what  she  is." 

Ursula  shook  her  head.  "  I  have  only  to  see  you 
and  her  together  to  know  that  you  at  least  don't 
understand  love." 

"  It  might  be' well  if  you  didn't,"  said  Norman  dryly. 
"  You  might  be  less  unhappy — and  Clayton  less  un 
easy." 

"  Ah,  but  I  can't  help  myself.  Don't  you  see  it  in 
me,  Fred?  I'm  not  a  fool.  Yet  see  what  a  fool  I  act." 

"  Spoiled  child— that's  all.     No  self-control." 

"  You  despise  everyone  who  isn't  as  strong  as  you." 
She  looked  at  him  intently.  •  "  I  wonder  if  you  are  as 
self-controlled  as  you  imagine.  Sometimes  I  wish  you'd 
get  a  lesson.  Then  you'd  be  more  sympathetic.  But 
it  isn't  likely  you  will — not  through  a  woman.  Oh, 
they're  such  pitifully  easy  game  for  a  man  like  you. 
But  then  men  are  the  same  way  with  you — quite  as 
easy.  You  get  anything  you  want.  .  .  .  You're  really 
going  to  stick  to  Josephine?  " 

He  nodded.    "  It's  time  for  me  to  settle  down." 
43 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Yes— I  think  it  is,"  she  went  on  thoughtfully.  "  I 
can  hardly  believe  you're  to  marry.  Of  course,  she's 
the  grand  prize.  Still — I  never  imagined  you'd  come 
in  and  surrender.  I  guess  you  do  care  for  her." 

"  Why  else  should  I  marry?  "  argued  he.  "  She's 
got  nothing  I  need — except  herself,  Ursula." 

"  What  is  it  you  see  in  her  ?  " 

"  What  you  see — what  everyone  sees,"  replied  Fred, 
with  quiet,  convincing  enthusiasm.  "  What  no  one  could 
help  seeing.  As  you  say,  she's  the  grand  prize." 

"  Yes,  she  is  sweet  and  handsome — and  intelligent 
— very  superior,  without  making  others  feel  that  they're 
outclassed.  Still — there's  something  lacking — not  in  her 
perhaps,  but  in  you.  You  have  it  for  her — she's  crazy 
about  you.  But  she  hasn't  it  for  you." 

"What?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  It  isn't  a  thing  that  can  be  put 
into  words." 

"  Then  it  doesn't  exist." 

"  Oh,  yes  it  does,"  cried  Ursula.  "  If  the  engage 
ment  were  to  be  broken — or  if  anything  were  to  happen 
to  her — why,  you'd  get  over  it — would  go  on  as  if  noth 
ing  had  happened.  If  she  didn't  fit  in  with  your  plans 
and  ambitions,  she'd  be  sacrificed  so  quick  she'd  not 
know  what  had  taken  off  her  head.  But  if  you  felt  what 
I  mean — then  you'd  give  up  everything — do  the  wild 
est,  craziest  things." 

"  What  nonsense ! "  scoffed  Norman.  "  I  can  im- 
44 


THE    GRAIN    OF   DUST 


agine  myself  making  a  fool  of  myself  about  a  woman 
as  easily  as  about  anything  else.  But  I  can't  imagine 
myself  playing  the  fool  for  anything  whatsoever." 

There  was  mysterious  fire  in  Ursula's  absent  eyes. 
"  You  remember  me  as  a  girl — how  mercenary  I  was — • 
how  near  I  came  to  marrying  Cousin  Jake?  " 

"  /  saved  you  from  that." 

"  Yes— and  for  what?    I  fell  in  love." 

"  And  out  again." 

"  I  was  deceived  in  Clayton — deceived  myself — nat 
urally.  How  is  a  woman  to  know,  without  experience?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  criticising,"  said  the  brother. 

"  Besides,  a  love  marriage  that  fails  is  different  from 
a  mercenary  marriage  that  fails." 

"  Very — very,"  agreed  he.  "  Just  the  difference 
between  an  honorable  and  a  dishonorable  bankruptcy." 

"  Anyhow — it's  bankrupt — my  marriage.  But  I've 
learned  what  love  is — that  there  is  such  a  thing — and 
that  it's  valuable.  Yes,  Fred,  I've  got  the  taste  for 
that  wine — the  habit  of  it.  Could  I  go  back  to  water 
or  milk?" 

"  Spoiled  baby — that's  the  whole  story.  If  you  had 
a  nursery  full  of  children — or  did  the  heavy  house 
work — you'd  never  think  of  these  foolish  moonshiny 
things." 

"  Yet  you  say  you  love !  " 

"  Clayton  is  as  good  as  any  you're  likely  to  run 
across — is  better  than  some  I've  seen  about." 

45 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  How  can  you  say  ?  "  cried  she.  "  It's  for  me 
to  judge." 

"  If  you  would  only  judge!  " 

Ursula  sighed.  "  It's  useless  to  talk  to  you.  Let's 
go  down." 

Norman,  following  her  from  the  room,  stopped  her 
in  the  doorway  to  give  her  a  brotherly  hug  and  kiss. 
"  You  won't  make  an  out-and-out  idiot  of  yourself, 
will  you,  Ursula  ?  "  he  said,  in  his  winning  manner. 

The  expression  of  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him 
showed  how  strong  was  his  influence  over  her.  "  You 
know  I'll  come  to  you  for  advice  before  I  do  anything 
final,"  said  she.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  want !  I 
only  know  what  I  don't  want.  I  wish  I  were  well 
balanced — as  you  are,  Fred." 


"'You  won't  make  an  out-and-out  idiot  of  yourself,  will  you, 

Ursula?'" 


ni 


THE  brother  and  sister  dined  alone.  Clayton  was 
finding  his  club  a  more  comfortable  place  than  his  home, 
in  those  days  of  his  wife's  disillusionment  and  hesita 
tion  about  the  future.  Many  weak  creatures  are  curi 
ously  armed  for  the  unequal  conflict  of  existence — 
some  with  fleetness  of  foot,  some  with  a  pole-cat  weapon 
of  malignance,  some  with  porcupine  quills,  some  with 
a  'possumlike  instinct  for  "  playing  dead."  Of  these 
last  was  Fitzhugh.  He  knew  when  to  be  silent,  when 
to  keep  out  of  the  way,  when  to  "  sit  tight  "  and  wait. 
His  wife  had  discovered  that  he  was  a  fool — that  he 
perhaps  owed  more  to  his  tailor  than  to  any  other 
single  factor  for  the  success  of  his  splendid  pose  of 
the  thorough  gentleman.  Yet  she  did  not  realize  what 
an  utter  fool  he  was,  so  clever  had  he  been  in  the  use 
of  the  art  of  discreet  silence.  Norman  suspected  him, 
but  could  not  believe  a  human  being  capable  of  such 
fathomless  vacuity  as  he  found  whenever  he  tried  to 
explore  his  brother-in-law's  brain. 

After  dinner  Norman  took  Ursula  to  the  opera, 
to  join  the  Seldins,  and  after  the  first  act  went  to 
Josephine,  who  had  come  with  only  a  deaf  old  aunt. 

47 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Josephine  loved  music,  and  to  hear  an  opera  from  a 
box  one  must  be  alone.  Norman  entered  as  the  lights 
went  up.  It  always  gave  him  a  feeling  of  dilation, 
this  spectacle  of  material  splendor — the  women,  whose 
part  it  is  throughout  civilization  to-day  to  wear  for 
public  admiration  and  envy  the  evidences  of  the  prowess 
of  the  males  to  whom  they  belong.  A  truer  version  of 
Dr.  Holmes's  aphorism  would  be  that  it  takes  several 
generations  in  oil  to  make  a  deep-dyed  snob — wholly  to 
destroy  a  man's  or  a  woman's  point  of  view,  sense  of 
the  kinship  of  all  flesh,  and  to  make  him  or  her  over 
into  the  genuine  believer  in  caste  and  worshiper  of  it. 
For  all  his  keenness  of  mind,  of  humor,  Norman  had  the 
fast-dyed  snobbishness  of  his  family  and  friends.  He 
knew  that  caste  was  silly,  that  such  displays  as  this 
vulgar  flaunting  of  jewels  and  costly  dresses  were  in 
atrocious  bad  taste.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  know,  an 
other  thing  to  feel;  and  his  feeling  was  delight  in  the 
spectacle,  pride  in  his  own  high  rank  in  the  aristocracy. 
His  eyes  rested  with  radiant  pleasure  on  the  girl 
he  was  to  marry.  And  she  was  indeed  a  person  to 
appeal  to  the  passion  of  pride.  Simply  and  most 
expensively  dressed  in  pearl  satin,  with  only  a  little 
jewelry,  she  sat  in  the  front  of  her  parterre  box,  a 
queen  by  right  of  her  father's  wealth,  her  family's  posi 
tion,  her  own  beauty.  She  was  a  large  woman — tall,  a 
big  frame  but  not  ungainly.  She  had  brilliant  dark 
eyes,  a  small  proud  head  set  upon  shoulders  that  were 

48 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


slenderly  young  now  and,  even  when  they  should  be 
came  matronly,  would  still  be  beautiful.  She  had  good 
teeth,  an  exquisite  smile,  the  gentle  good  humor  of  those 
who,  comfortable  themselves,  would  not  have  the  slight 
est  objection  to  all  others  being  equally  so.  Because 
she  laughed  appreciatively  and  repeated  amusingly  she 
had  great  reputation  for  wit.  Because  she  industriously 
picked  up  from  men  a  plausible  smatter  of  small  talk 
about  politics,  religion,  art  and  the  like,  she  was  re 
nowned  as  clever  verging  on  profound.  And  she  be 
lieved  herself  both  witty  and  wise — as  do  thousands, 
male  and  female,  with  far  less  excuse. 

She  had  selected  Norman  for  the  same  reason  that 
he  had  selected  her;  each  recognized  the  other  as  the 
"  grand  prize."  Pity  is  not  nearly  so  close  kin  to  love 
as  is  the  feeling  that  the  other  person  satisfies  to  the 
uttermost  all  one's  pet  vanities.  It  would  have  been 
next  door  to  impossible  for  two  people  so  well  matched 
not  to  find  themselves  drawn  to  each  other  and  filled 
with  sympathy  and  the  sense  of  comradeship,  so  far  as 
there  can  be  comradeship  where  two  are  driving  luxuri 
ously  along  the  way  of  life,  with  not  a  serious  cause  for 
worry.  People  without  half  the  general  fitness  of  these 
two  for  each  other  have  gone  through  to  the  end,  re 
garding  themselves  and  regarded  as  the  most  devoted 
of  lovers.  Indeed,  they  were  lovers.  Only  one  of  those 
savage  tests,  to  which  in  all  probability  they  would  never 
be  exposed,  would  or  could  reveal  just  how  much,  or 

49 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


how  little,  that  vague,  variable  word  lovers  meant  when 
applied  to  them. 

As  their  eyes  met,  into  each  pair  leaped  the  fine, 
exalted  light  of  pride  in  possession.  "  This  wonderful 
woman  is  mine !  "  his  eyes  said.  And  her  eyes  answered, 
"  And  you — you  most  wonderful  of  men — you  are 
mine !  "  It  always  gave  each  of  them  a  thrill  like  intoxi 
cation  to  meet,  after  a  day's  separation.  All  the  joy  of 
their  dazzling  good  fortune  burst  upon  them  afresh. 

"  I'll  venture  you  haven't  thought  of  me  the  whole 
day,"  said  she  as  he  dropped  to  the  chair  behind  her. 

It  was  a  remark  she  often  made — to  give  him  the 
opportunity  to  say,  "  I've  thought  of  little  else,  I'm 
sorry  to  say — I,  who  have  a  career  to  look  after."  He 
made  the  usual  answer,  and  they  smiled  happily  at  each 
other.  "  And  you?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I?    What  else  has  a  woman  to  think  about?  " 

Her  statement  was  as  true  as  his  was  false.  He 
was  indeed  all  she  had  to  think  about — all  worth  wast 
ing  the  effort  of  thought  upon.  But  he — though  he  did 
not  realize  it — had  thought  of  her  only  in  the  incidental 
way  in  which  an  ambition-possessed  man  must  force  him 
self  to  think  of  a  woman.  The  best  of  his  mind  was 
commandeered  to  his  career.  An  amiable  but  shakily 
founded  theory  that  it  was  "  our  "  career  enabled  him 
to  say  without  sense  of  lying  that  his  chief  thought 
had  been  she. 

"  How  those  men  down  town  would  poke  fun  at 
50 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


you,"  said  she,  "  if  they  knew  you  had  me  with  you  all 
the  time,  right  beside  you." 

This  amused  him.  "  Still,  I  suspect  there  are  lots 
of  men  who'd  be  exposed  in  the  same  way  if  there  were 
a  general  and  complete  show-down." 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  I  really  were  with  you — working 
with  you — helping  you.  You  have  girls — a  girl — to 
be  your  secretary — or  whatever  you  call  it — don't 
you?" 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  one  I  had  to-day.  But 
there's  always  something  pathetic  about  every  girl  who 
has  to  make  her  own  living." 

"  Pathetic !  "  protested  Miss  Burroughs.  "  Not  at 
all.  I  think  it's  fine." 

"  You  wouldn't  say  that  if  you  had  tried  it." 

"  Indeed,  I  should,"  she  declared  with  spirit.  "  You 
men  are  entirely  too  soft  about  women.  You  don't 
realize  how  strong  they  are.  And,  of  course,  women 
don't  resist  the  temptation  to  use  their  sex  when  they  see 
how  easy  it  is  to  fool  men  that  way.  The  sad  thing 
about  it  is  that  the  woman  who  gets  along  by  using 
her  sex  and  by  appealing  to  the  soft-heartedness  of 
men  never  learns  to  rely  on  herself.  She's  likely  to 
come  to  grief  sooner  or  later." 

"  There's  truth  in  all  that,"  said  Norman.  "  Enough 
to  make  it  dangerously  unjust.  There's  so  much  lying 
done  about  getting  on  that  it's  no  wonder  those  who've 
never  tried  to  do  for  themselves  get  a  wholly  false  notion 

51 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


of  the  situation.  It  is  hard — bitterly  hard — for  a  man 
to  get  on.  Most  men  don't.  Most  men?  All  but  a 
mere  handful.  And  if  those  who  do  get  on  were  to  tell 
the  truth — the  whole  truth — about  how  they  succeeded 
— well,  it'd  not  make  a  pleasant  story." 

"  But  you've  got  on,"  retorted  the  girl. 

"  So  I  have.  And  how?  "  Norman  smiled  with 
humorous  cynicism.  "  I'll  never  tell — not  all — only  the 
parts  that  sound  well.  And  those  parts  are  the  least 
important.  However,  let's  not  talk  about  that.  What 
I  set  out  to  say  was  that,  while  it's  hard  for  a  man  to 
make  a  decent  living — unless  he  has  luck — and  harder 
still — much  harder — for  him  to  rise  to  independ 
ence " 

"  It  wasn't  so  dreadfully  hard  for  you"  interrupted 
Josephine,  looking  at  him  with  proud  admiration.  "  But 
then,  you  had  a  wonderful  brain." 

"  That  wasn't  what  did  it,"  replied  he.  "  And,  in 
spite  of  all  my  advantages — friendships,  education, 
enough  money  to  tide  me  over  the  beginnings — in  spite 
of  all  that,  I  had  a  frightful  time.  Not  the  work.  Of 
course,  I  had  to  work,  but  I  like  that.  No,  it  was  the — 
the  maneuvering,  let's  call  it — the  hardening  process." 

"  You !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Everyone  who  succeeds — in  active  life.  You  don't 
understand  the  system,  dear.  It's  a  cutthroat  game. 
It  isn't  at  all  what  the  successful  hypocrites  describe 
in  their  talks  to  young  men ! "  He  laughed.  "  If  I 

52 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


had  followed  the  '  guides  to  success,'  I'd  not  be  here. 
Oh,  yes,  I've  made  terrible  sacrifices,  but — "  his  look 
at  her  made  her  thrill  with  exaltation — "  it  was  worth 
doing.  ...  I  understand  and  sympathize  with  those  who 
scorn  to  succeed.  But  I'm  glad  I  happened  not  to  be 
born  with  their  temperament,  at  least  not  with  enough 
of  it  to  keep  me  down." 

"  You're  too  hard  on  yourself,  too  generous  to  the 
failures." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  the  men  who  were  too  lazy  to 
do  the  work  or  too  cowardly  to  dare  the — the  unpleas 
ant  things.  And  I'm  not  hard  with  myself — only  frank. 
But  we  were  talking  of  the  women.  Poor  things,  what 
chance  have  they  got?  You  scorn  them  for  using  their 
sex.  Wait  till  you're  drowning,  dear,  before  you  criti 
cise  another  for  what  he  does  to  save  himself  when  he's 
sinking  for  the  last  time.  I  used  everything  I  had  in 
making  my  fight.  If  I  could  have  got  on  better  or 
quicker  by  the  aid  of  my  sex,  I'd  have  used  that." 

"  Don't  say  those  things,  Fred,"  cried  Josephine, 
smiling  but  half  in  earnest. 

"Why  not?     Aren't  you  glad  I'm  here?" 

She  gave  him  a  long  look  of  passionate  love  and 
lowered  her  eyes. 

"At  whatever  cost?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  I'm  sure  you 
exaggerate." 

"  I've  done  nothing  you  wouldn't  approve  of — or 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


find  excuses  for.  But  that's  because  you — I — all  of  us 
in  this  class — and  in  most  other  classes — have  been 
trained  to  false  ideas — no,  to  perverted  ideas — to  a 
system  of  morality  that's  twisted  to  suit  the  demands 
of  practical  life.  On  Sundays  we  go  to  a  magnificent 
church  to  hear  an  expensive  preacher  and  choir,  go  in 
expensive  dress  and  in  carriages,  and  we  never  laugh  at 
ourselves.  Yet  we  are  going  in  the  name  of  One  who 
was  born  in  a  stable  and  who  said  that  we  must  give 
everything  to  the  poor,  and  so  on." 

"  But  I  don't  see  what  we  could  do  about  it — "  she 
said  hesitatingly. 

"  We  couldn't  do  anything.  Only — don't  you  see 
my  point? — the  difference  between  theory  and  practice? 
Personally,  I've  no  objection — no  strong  objection — to 
the  practice.  All  I  object  to  is  the  lying  and  faking 
about  it,  to  make  it  seem  to  fit  the  theory.  But  we  were 
talking  of  women — women  who  work." 

"  I've  no  doubt  you're  right,"  admitted  she.  "  I 
suppose  they  aren't  to  blame  for  using  their  sex.  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself,  to  sneer  at  them." 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  their  sex  does  few  of  them 
any  good.  The  reverse.  You  see,  an  attractive  woman 
— one  who's  attractive  as  a  woman — can  skirmish  round 
and  find  some  one  to  support  her.  But  most  of  the 
working  women — those  who  keep  on  at  it — don't  find 
the  man.  They're  not  attractive,  not  even  at  the  start. 
After  they've  been  at  it  a  few  years  and  lose  the  little 

54 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


bloom  they  ever  had — why,  they've  got  to  take  their 
chances  at  the  game,  precisely  like  a  man.  Only,  they're 
handicapped  by  always  hoping  that  they'll  be  able  to 
quit  and  become  married  women.  I'd  like  to  see  how 
men  would  behave  if  they  could  find  or  could  imagine 
any  alternative  to  '  root  hog  or  die.'  " 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  this  evening,  Fred? 
I  never  saw  you  in  such  a  bitter  mood." 

"  We  never  happened  to  get  on  this  subject  before." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have.  And  you  always  have  scoffed 
at  the  men  who  fail." 

"  And  I  still  scoff  at  them — most  of  them.  A  lot  of 
lazy  cowards.  Or  else,  so  bent  on  self-indulgence — 
petty  self-indulgence — that  they  refuse  to  make  the 
small  sacrifice  to-day  for  the  sake  of  the  large  advantage 
day  after  to-morrow.  Or  else  so  stuffed  with  vanity 
that  they  never  see  their  own  mistakes.  However,  why 
blame  them?  They  were  bom  that  way,  and  can't 
change.  A  man  who  has  the  equipment  of  success  and 
succeeds  has  no  more  right  to  sneer  at  one  less  lucky 
than  you  would  have  to  laugh  at  a  poor  girl  because 
she  wasn't  dressed  as  well  as  you." 

"  What  a  mood !     Something  must  have  happened." 

"Perhaps,"  said  he  reflectively.  "Possibly  that 
girl  set  me  off." 

"What  girl?" 

"  The  one  I  told  you  about.  The  unfortunate  lit 
tle  creature  who  was  typewriting  for  me  this  afternoon. 

55 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Not  so  very  little,  either.  A  curious  figure  she  had. 
She  was  tall  yet  she  wasn't.  She  seemed  thin,  and  when 
you  looked  again,  you  saw  that  she  was  really  only 
slender,  and  beautifully  shaped  throughout." 

Miss  Burroughs  laughed.  "  She  must  have  been  at- 
tractive." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Absolutely  without  charm — and 
so  homely — no,  not  homely — commonplace.  No,  that's 
not  right,  either.  She  had  a  startling  way  of  fading  and 
blazing  out.  One  moment  she  seemed  a  blank — pale, 
lifeless,  colorless,  a  nobody.  The  next  minute  she  be 
came — amazingly  different.  Not  the  same  thing  every 
time,  but  different  things." 

Frederick  Norman  was  too  experienced  a  dealer 
with  women  deliberately  to  make  the  mistake — rather, 
to  commit  the  breach  of  tact  and  courtesy — involved 
in  praising  one  woman  to  another.  But  in  this  case 
it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  talking  to  a  woman 
of  a  woman.  Josephine  Burroughs  was  a  lady;  the 
other  was  a  piece  of  office  machinery — and  a  very  trivial 
piece  at  that.  But  he  saw  and  instantly  understood 
the  look  in  her  eyes — the  strained  effort  to  keep  the 
telltale  upper  lip  from  giving  its  prompt  and  irrepres 
sible  signal  of  inward  agitation. 

"  I'm  very  much  interested,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  she  was  a  curiosity,"  said  he  carelessly. 

"  Has  she  been  there — long?  "  inquired  Josephine, 
with  a  feigned  indifference  that  did  not  deceive  him, 

56 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Several  months,  I  believe.  I  never  noticed  her 
until  a  few  days  ago.  And  until  to-day  I  had  for 
gotten  her.  She's  one  of  the  kind  it's  difficult  to  re 
member." 

He  fell  to  glancing  round  the  house,  pretending  to 
be  unconscious  of  the  furtive  suspicion  with  which  she 
was  observing  him.     She  said: 
"  She's  your  secretary  now  ?  " 
"  Merely  a  general  office  typewriter." 
The  curtain  went  up  for  the  second  act.     Josephine 
fixed  her  attention  on  the  stage — apparently  undivided 
attention.     But  Norman  felt  rather  than  saw  that  she 
was  still  worrying  about  the  "  curiosity."    He  marveled 
at  this  outcropping  of  jealousy.     It  seemed  ridiculous 
— it  was  ridiculous.      He  laughed  to  himself.     If  she 
could  see  the  girl — the  obscure,  uninteresting  cause  of 
her  agitation — how  she  would  mock  at  herself!     Then, 
too,  there  was  the  absurdity  of  thinking  him  capable  of 
such  a  stoop.    A  woman  of  their  own  class — or  a  woman 
of  its  corresponding  class,  on  the  other  side  of  the  line 
— yes.     No  doubt  she  had  heard  things  that  made  her 
uneasy,   or,   at   least,   ready   to  be   uneasy.      But  this 
poorly  dressed  obscurity,  with  not  a  charm  that  could 
attract  even  a  man  of  her  own  lowly  class —    It  was  such 
a  good  joke  that  he  would  have  teased  Josephine  about 
it  but  for  his  knowledge  of  the  world — a  knowledge  in 
whose  primer  it  was  taught  that  teasing  is  both  bad 
taste  and  bad  judgment.     Also,  it  was  beneath  his  dig- 

57 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


nity,  it  was  offense  to  his  vanity,  to  couple  his  name 
with  the  name  of  one  so  beneath  him  that  even  the  mat 
ter  of  sex  did  not  make  the  coupling  less  intolerable. 

When  the  curtain  fell  several  people  came  into  the 
box,  and  he  went  to  make  a  few  calls  round  the  parterre. 
He  returned  after  the  second  act.  They  were  again 
alone  —  the  deaf  old  aunt  did  not  count.  At  once 
Josephine  began  upon  the  same  subject.  With  studied 
indifference — how  amusing  for  a  woman  of  her  inex 
perience  to  try  to  fool  a  man  of  his  experience ! — she 
said: 

"  Tell  me  some  more  about  that  typewriter  girl. 
Women  who  work  always  interest  me." 

"  She  wouldn't,"  said  Norman.  The  subject  had 
been  driven  clean  out  of  his  mind,  and  he  didn't  wish  to 
return  to  it.  "  Some  day  they  will  venture  to  make 
judicious  long  cuts  in  Wagner's  operas,  and  then  they'll 
be  interesting.  It  always  amuses  me,  this  reverence  of 
little  people  for  the  great  ones — as  if  a  great  man  were 
always  great.  No — he  is  always  great.  But  often  it's 
in  a  dull  way.  And  the  dull  parts  ought  to  be  skipped." 

"  I  don't  like  the  opera  this  evening,"  said  she. 
"  What  you  said  a  while  ago  Jias  set  me  to  thinking. 
Is  that  girl  a  lady?" 

"  She  works,"  laughed  he. 

"  But  she  might  have  been  a  lady." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  Don't  you  know  anythwg  about  her?  " 
58 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


"  Except  that  she's  trustworthy — and  insignificant 
and  not  too  good  at  her  business." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you  could  afford  to  keep  in 
competent  people,"  said  the  girl  shrewdly. 

"  Perhaps  they  won't  keep  her,"  parried  Norman 
gracefully.  "  The  head  clerk  looks  after  those  things." 

"  He  probably  likes  her." 

"  No,"  said  Norman,  too  indifferent  to  be  cautious. 
"  She  has  no  '  gentlemen  friends.' ' 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  said  the  girl,  and  she 
could  not  keep  a  certain  sharpness  out  of  her  voice. 

"  Tetlow,  the  head  clerk,  told  me.  I  asked  him  a 
few  questions  about  her.  I  had  some  confidential  work 
to  do  and  didn't  want  to  trust  her  "dthout  being  sure." 

He  saw  that  she  was  now  prey  to  her  jealous  suspi 
cion.  He  was  uncertain  whether  to  be  amused  or  irri 
tated.  She  had  to  pause  long  and  with  visible  effort 
collect  herself  before  venturing: 

"  Oh,  she  does  confidential  work  for  you?  I  thought 
you  said  she  was  incompetent." 

He,  the  expert  cross-examiner,  had  to  admire  her 
skill  at  that  high  science  and  art.  "  I  felt  sorry  for 
her,"  he  said.  "  She  seemed  such  a  forlorn  little 
creature." 

She  laughed  with  a  constrained  attempt  at  raillery. 
"  I  never  should  have  suspected  you  of  such  weakness. 
To  give  confidential  things  to  a  forlorn  little  incom 
petent,  out  of  pity." 

3  59 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  was  irritated,  distinctly.  The  whole  thing  was 
preposterous.  It  reminded  him  of  feats  of  his  own 
before  a  jury.  By  clever  questioning,  Josephine  had 
made  about  as  trifling  an  incident  as  could  be  imagined 
take  on  really  quite  imposing  proportions.  There  was 
annoyance  in  his  smile  as  he  said: 

"  Shall  I  send  her  up  to  see  you?  You  might  find 
it  amusing,  and  maybe  you  could  do  something  for  her." 

Josephine  debated.  "Yes,"  she  finally  said.  "I 
wish  you  would  send  her — "  with  a  little  sarcasm — 
"  if  you  can  spare  her  for  an  hour  or  so." 

"  Don't  make  it  longer  than  that,"  laughed  he. 
"  Everything  will  stop  while  she's  gone." 

It  pleased  him,  in  a  way,  this  discovery  that  Joseph 
ine  had  such  a  common,  commonplace  weakness  as  jeal 
ousy.  But  it  also  took  away  something  from  his  high 
esteem  for  her — an  esteem  born  of  the  lover's  idealiz- 
ings ;  for,  while  he  was  not  of  the  kind  of  men  who  are 
on  their  knees  before  women,  he  did  have  a  deep  respect 
for  Josephine,  incarnation  of  all  the  material  things 
that  dazzled  him — a  respect  with  something  of  the  rever 
ential  in  it,  and  something  of  awe — more  than  he  would 
have  admitted  to  himself.  To-day,  as  of  old,  the  image- 
makers  are  as  sincere  worshipers  as  visit  the  shrines. 
In  our  prostrations  and  genuflections  in  the  temple  we 
do  not  discriminate  against  the  idols  we  ourselves  have 
manufactured;  on  the  contrary,  them  we  worship  with 
peculiar  gusto.  Norman  knew  his  gods  were  frauds, 

60 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


that  their  divine  qualities  were  of  the  earth  earthy.  But 
he  served  them,  and  what  most  appealed  to  him  in 
Josephine  was  that  she  incorporated  about  all  their 
divine  qualities. 

He  and  his  sister  went  home  together.  Her  first 
remark  in  the  auto  was :  "  What  were  you  and  Josie 
quarreling  about  ?  " 

"  Quarreling  ?  "  inquired  he  in  honest  surprise. 

"  I  looked  at  her  through  my  glasses  and  saw  that 
ehe  was  aH  upset — and  you,  too." 

"  This  is  too  ridiculous,"  cried  he. 

"  She  looked — jealous." 

"  Nonsense !    What  an  imagination  you  have!  " 

"  I  saw  what  I  saw,"  Ursula  maintained.  "  Well, 
I  suppose  she  has  heard  something — something  recent. 
I  thought  you  had  sworn  off,  Fred.  But  I  might  have 
known." 

Norman  was  angry.  He  wondered  at  his  own  ex 
asperation,  out  of  all  proportion  to  any  apparent  pro 
voking  cause.  And  it  was  most  unusual  for  him  to  feel 
temper,  all  but  unprecedented  for  him  to  show  it,  no 
matter  how  strong  the  temptation. 

"  It's  a  good  idea,  to  make  her  jealous,"  pursued 
his  sister.  "  Nothing  like  jealousy  to  stimulate  in 
terest." 

"  Josephine  is  not  that  sort  of  woman." 

"  You  know  better.  All  women  are  that  sort.  All 
men,  too.  Of  course,  some  men  and  women  grow  angry 

61 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  go  away  when  they  get  jealous  while  others  stick 
closer.     So  one  has  to  be  judicious." 

"  Josephine  and  I  understand  each  other  far  too 
well  for  such  pettiness." 

"  Try  her.     No,  you  needn't.     You  have." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you " 

"  Then  what  was  she  questioning  you  about  ?  " 

"  Just  to  show  you  how  wrong  you  were,  I'll  tell 
you.  She  was  asking  me  about  a  poor  little  girl  down 
at  the  office — one  she  wants  to  help." 

Ursula  laughed.  "  To  help  out  of  your  office,  I 
guess.  I  thought  you'd  lived  long  enough,  Fred,  to 
learn  that  no  woman  trusts  any  man  about  any  woman. 
Who  is  this  'poor  little  girl'?" 

"  I  don't  even  know  her  name.  One  of  the  type 
writers." 

"  What  made  Josephine  jealous  of  her?  " 

"  Haven't  I  told  you  Josephine  was  not " 

"  But  I  saw.     Who  is  this  girl?— pretty?  " 

Norman  pretended  to  stifle  a  yawn.  "  Josephine 
bored  me  half  to  death  talking  about  her.  Now  it's 
you.  I  never  heard  so  much  about  so  little." 

"  Is  there  something  up  between  you  and  the  girl?  " 
teased  Ursula. 

"  Now,  that's  an  outrage !  "  cried  Norman.  "  She's 
got  nothing  but  her  reputation,  poor  child.  Do  leave 
her  that." 

"  Is  she  very  young?  " 

62 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"How  should  I  know?" 

"  Youth  is  a  charm  in  itself." 

"  What  sort  of  rot  is  this !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  Do 
you  think  I'd  drop  down  to  anything  of  that  kind — in 
any  circumstances?  A  little  working  girl — and  in  my 
own  office  ?  " 

"Why  do  you  heat  so,  Fred?"  teased  the  sister. 
"  Really,  I  don't  wonder  Josephine  was  torn  up." 

An  auto  almost  ran  into  them — one  of  those  in 
numerable  hairbreadth  escapes  that  make  the  streets 
of  New  York  as  exciting  as  a  battle — and  as  dangerous. 
For  a  few  minutes  Ursula's  mind  was  deflected.  But  a 
fatality  seemed  to  pursue  the  subject  of  the  pale  ob 
scurity  whose  very  name  he  was  uncertain  whether  he 
remembered  aright. 

Said  Ursula,  as  they  entered  the  house,  "  A  girl 
working  in  the  office  with  a  man  has  a  magnificent  chance 
at  him.  It's  lucky  for  the  men  that  women  don't  know 
their  business,  but  are  amateurs  and  too  stuck  on  them 
selves  to  set  and  bait  their  traps  properly.  Is  that 
girl  trying  to  get  round  you  ?  " 

"  What  possesses  everybody  to-night !  "  cried  Nor 
man.  "  I  tell  you  the  girl 's  as  uninteresting  a  specimen 
as  you  could  find." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  interested  in  her  ?  "  teased 
the  sister. 

Norman  shrugged  his  shoulders,  laughed  with  his 
normal  easy  good  humor  and  went  to  his  own  floor. 

63 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


On  top  of  the  pile  of  letters  beside  his  plate,  next 
morning,  lay  a  note  from  Josephine  : 

"  Don't  forget  your  promise  about  that  girl,  dear. 
I've  an  hour  before  lunch,  and  could  see  her  then.  I 
was  out  of  humor  last  night.  I'm  very  penitent  this 
morning.  Please  forgive  me.  Maybe  I  can  do  some 
thing  for  her. 

"  JOSEPHINE." 

Norman  read  with  amused  eyes.  "  Well ! "  solilo 
quized  he,  "  I'm  not  likely  to  forget  that  poor  little 
creatdre  again.  What  a  fuss  about  nothing !  " 


IV 


MANY  men,  possibly  a  majority,  have  sufficient 
equipment  for  at  least  a  fair  measure  of  success.  Yet 
all  but  a  few  are  downright  failures,  passing  their  lives 
in  helpless  dependence,  glad  to  sell  themselves  for  a 
small  part  of  the  value  they  create.  For  this  there  are 
two  main  reasons.  The  first  is,  as  Norman  said,  that 
only  a  few  men  have  the  self-restraint  to  resist  the 
temptings  of  a  small  pleasure  to-day  in  order  to  gain 
a  larger  to-morrow  or  next  day.  The  second  is  that 
few  men  possess  the  power  of  continuous  concentration. 
Most  of  us  cannot  concentrate  at  all;  any  slight  dis 
traction  suffices  to  disrupt  and  destroy  the  whole  train 
of  thought.  A  good  many  can  concentrate  for  a  few 
hours,  for  a  week  or  so,  for  two  or  three  months.  But 
there  comes  a  small  achievement  and  it  satisfies,  or  a 
small  discouragement  and  it  disheartens.  Only  to  the 
rare  few  is  given  the  power  to  concentrate  steadily, 
year  in  and  year  out,  through  good  and  evil  event  or 
report. 

As  Norman  stepped  into  his  auto  to  go  to  the  office 
— he  had  ridden  a  horse  in  the  park  before  breakfast 

65 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


until  its  hide  was  streaked  with  lather — the  instant  he 
entered  his  auto,  he  discharged  his  mind  of  everything 
but  the  business  before  him  down  town — or,  rather,  busi 
ness  filled  his  mind  so  completely  that  everything  else 
poured  out  and  away.  A  really  fine  mind — a  perfect 
or  approximately  perfect  instrument  to  the  purposes  of 
its  possessor — is  a  marvelous  spectacle  of  order.  It  is 
like  a  vast  public  library  constantly  used  by  large  num 
bers.  There  are  alcoves,  rows  on  rows,  shelves  on 
shelves,  with  the  exactest  system  everywhere  prevailing, 
with  the  attendants  moving  about  in  list-bottomed  shoes, 
fulfilling  without  the  least  hesitation  or  mistake  the 
multitude  of  directions  from  the  central  desk.  It  is 
like  an  admirably  drilled  army,  where  there  is  the  nice 
balance  of  freedom  and  discipline  that  gives  mobility 
without  confusion;  the  divisions,  down  to  files  and  even 
units,  can  be  disposed  along  the  line  of  battle  wherever 
needed,  or  can  be  marshaled  in  reserve  for  use  at  the 
proper  moment.  Such  a  mind  may  be  used  for  good 
purpose  or  bad — or  for  mixed  purposes,  after  the  usual 
fashion  in  human  action.  But  whatever  the  service  to 
which  it  is  put,  it  acts  with  equal  energy  and  precision. 
Character — that  is  a  thing  apart.  The  character  deter 
mines  the  morality  of  action ;  but  only  the  intellect  de 
termines  the  skill  of  action. 

In  the  offices  of  that  great  law  firm  one  of  the  keen 
est  pleasures  of  the  more  intelligent  of  the  staff  was 
watching  the  workings  of  Frederick  Norman's  mind — 

66 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


its  ease  of  movement,  its  quickness  and  accuracy,  its 
obedience  to  the  code  of  mental  habits  he  had  fixed  for 
himself.  In  large  part  all  this  was  born  with  the  man ; 
but  it  had  been  brought  to  a  state  of  perfection  by  the 
most  painful  labor,  by  the  severest  discipline,  by  years 
of  practice  of  the  sacrifice  of  small  temptations — tempta 
tions  to  waste  time  and  strength  on  the  little  pleasant 
things  which  result  in  such  heavy  bills — bills  that  bank 
rupt  a  man  in  middle  life  and  send  him  in  old  age  into 
the  deserts  of  poverty  and  contempt. 

Such  an  unique  and  trivial  request  as  that  of 
Josephine  Burroughs  being  wholly  out  of  his  mental 
habit  for  down  town,  he  forgot  it  along  with  every 
thing  else  having  to  do  with  uptown  only — along  with 
Josephine  herself,  to  tell  a  truth  which  may  pique  the 
woman  reader  and  may  be  wholly  misunderstood  by 
the  sentimentalists.  By  merest  accident  he  was  re 
minded. 

As  the  door  of  his  private  office  opened  to  admit 
an  important  client  he  happened  to  glance  up.  And 
between  the  edge  of  the  door  frame  and  his  client's 
automobile-fattened  and  carefully  dressed  body,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  "  poor  little  f  orlomness  "  who 
chanced  to  be  crossing  the  outer  office.  A  glint  of  sun 
light  on  her  hair  changed  it  from  lifelessness  to  golden 
vital  vividness ;  the  same  chance  sunbeam  touched  her 
pale  skin  with  a  soft  yellow  radiation — and  her  profile 
was  delicately  fine  and  regular.  Thus  Norman,  who  ob- 

67 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


served  everything,  saw  a  head  of  finely  wrought  gold — 
a  startling  cameo  against  the  dead  white  of  office  wall. 
It  was  only  with  the  second  thought  that  he  recognized 
her.  The  episode  of  the  night  before  came  back — and 
Josephine's  penitent  yet  persistent  note. 

He  glanced  at  the  clock.  Said  the  client  in  the 
amusing  tone  of  one  who  would  like  to  take  offense  if 
he  only  dared,  "  I'll  not  detain  you  long,  Mr.  Norman. 
And  really  the  matter  is  extremely  important." 

There  are  not  many  lawyers,  even  of  the  first  rank, 
with  whom  their  big  clients  reverse  the  attitude  of  serv 
ant  and  master.  Norman  might  well  have  been  flattered. 
In  that  restrained  tone  from  one  used  to  servility  and 
fond  of  it  and  easily  miffed  by  lack  of  it  was  the  whole 
story  of  Norman's  long  battle  and  splendid  victory. 
But  he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  be  flattered ;  he  was  think 
ing  of  other  things.  And  it  presently  annoyed  him 
that  his  usually  docile  mind  refused  to  obey  his  will's 
order  to  concentrate  on  the  client  and  the  business — 
said  business  being  one  of  those  huge  schemes  through 
which  a  big  monster  of  a  corporation  is  constructed  by 
lawyers  out  of  materials  supplied  by  great  capitalists 
and  controllers  of  capital,  is  set  to  eating  in  enormous 
meals  the  substance  of  the  people ;  at  some  obscure  point 
in  all  the  principal  veins  small  but  leechlike  parasite 
corporations  are  attached,  industriously  to  suck  away 
the  surplus  blood  so  that  the  owners  of  the  beast  may 
say,  "  It  is  eating  almost  nothing.  See  how  lean  it  is, 

68 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


poor  tiling!  Why,  the  bones  fairly  poke  through  its 
meager  hide." 

An  interesting  and  highly  complicated  enterprise  is 
such  a  construction.  It  was  of  the  kind  in  which  Nor 
man's  mind  especially  delighted ;  Hercules  is  himself  only 
in  presence  of  an  herculean  labor.  But  on  that  day  he 
could  not  concentrate,  and  because  of  a  trifle !  He  felt 
like  a  giant  disabled  by  a  grain  of  dust  in  the  eye — 
yes,  a  mere  grain  of  dust !  "  I  must  love  Josephine 
even  more  than  I  realize,  to  be  fretted  by  such  a  paltry 
thing,"  thought  he.  And  after  patiently  enduring  the 
client  for  half  an  hour  without  being  able  to  grasp  the 
outlines  of  the  project,  he  rose  abruptly  and  said:  "  I 
must  get  into  my  mind  the  points  you've  given  me 
before  we  can  go  further.  So  I'll  not  waste  your 
time." 

This  sounded  very  like  "  Clear  out — you've  bored 
me  to  my  limit  of  endurance."  But  the  motions  of  a 
mind  such  as  he  knew  Norman  had  were  beyond  and 
high  above  the  client's  mere  cunning  at  dollar-trapping. 
He  felt  that  it  was  the  part  of  wisdom — also  soothing 
to  vanity — to  assume  that  Norman  meant  only  what 
his  words  conveyed.  When  Norman  was  alone  he  rang 
for  an  office  boy  and  said : 

"  Please  ask  Miss  Halliday  to  come  here." 

The  boy  hesitated.  "Miss  Hallowell? "  he  sug 
gested. 

"  Hallowell— thanks— Hallowell,"  said  Norman. 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


And  it  somehow  pleased  him  that  he  had  not  re 
membered  her  name.  How  significant  it  was  of  her  in 
significance  that  so  accurate  a  memory  as  his  should 
make  the  slip.  When  she,  impassive,  colorless,  nebulous, 
stood  before  him  the  feeling  of  pleasure  was,  queerly 
enough,  mingled  with  a  sense  of  humiliation.  What 
absurd  vagaries  his  imagination  had  indulged  in !  For 
it  must  have  been  sheer  hallucination,  his  seeing  those 
wonders  in  her.  How  he  would  be  laughed  at  if  those 
pictures  he  had  made  of  her  could  be  seen  by  any  other 
eyes !  "  They  must  be  right  when  they  say  a  man  in 
love  is  touched  in  the  head.  Only,  why  the  devil  should 
I  have  happened  to  get  these  crazy  notions  about  a 
person  I've  no  interest  in  ?  "  However,  the  main  point 
— and  most  satisfactory — was  that  Josephine  would  be 
at  a  glance  convinced — convicted — made  ashamed  of  her 
absurd  attack.  A  mere  grain  of  dust. 

"  Just  a  moment,  please,"  he  said  to  Miss  Hallowell. 
"  I  want  to  give  you  a  note  of  introduction." 

He  wrote  the  note  to  Josephine  Burroughs :  "  Here 
she  is.  I've  told  her  you  wish  to  talk  with  her  about 
doing  some  work  for  you."  When  he  finished  he  looked 
up.  She  was  standing  at  the  window,  gazing  out  upon 
the  tremendous  panorama  of  skyscrapers  that  makes 
New  York  the  most  astounding  of  the  cities  of  men.  He 
was  about  to  speak.  The  words  fell  back  unuttered. 
For  once  more  the  hallucination — or  whatever  it  was — 
laid  hold  of  him.  That  figure  by  the  window — that 

70 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


beautiful  girl,  with  the  great  dreamy  eyes  and  the  soft 
and  languorous  nuances  of  golden  haze  over  her  hair, 
over  the  skin  of  perfectly  rounded  cheek  and  perfectly 
moulded  chin  curving  with  ideal  grace  into  the  whitest 
and  firmest  of  throats 

"Am  I  mad?  or  do  I  really  see  what  I  see?"  he 
muttered. 

He  turned  away  to  clear  his  eyes  for  a  second  view, 
for  an  attempt  to  settle  it  whether  he  saw  or  imagined. 
When  he  looked  again,  she  was  observing  him — and  once 
more  she  was  the  obscure,  the  cipherlike  Miss  Hallowell, 
ten-dollar-a-week  typewriter  and  not  worth  it.  Evi 
dently  she  noted  his  confusion  and  was  vaguely  alarmed 
by  it.  He  recovered  himself  as  best  he  could  and  debated 
whether  it  was  wise  to  send  her  to  Josephine.  Surely 
those  transformations  were  not  altogether  his  own  hal 
lucinations ;  and  Josephine  might  see,  might  humiliate 
him  by  suspecting  more  strongly —  .  .  .  Ridiculous ! 
He  held  out  the  letter. 

"  The  lady  to  whom  this  is  addressed  wishes  to  see 
you.  Will  you  go  there,  right  away,  please?  It  may 
be  that  you'll  get  the  chance  to  make  some  extra 
money.  You've  no  objection,  I  suppose?" 

She  took  the  letter  hesitatingly. 

"  You  will  find  her  .agreeable,  I  think,"  continued 
he.  "  At  any  rate,  the  trip  can  do  no  harm." 

She  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  as  if  weighing  what 
he  had  said.  "  No,  it  will  do  no  harm,"  she  finally  said. 

71 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Then,  with  a  delightful  color  and  a  quick  transforma 
tion  into  a  vision  of  young  shyness,  "  Thank  you,  Mr. 
Norman.  Thank  you  so  much." 

"  Not  at  all — not  in  the  least,"  he  stammered,  the 
impulse  strong  to  take  the  note  back  and  ask  her  to 
return  to  her  desk. 

When  the  door  closed  behind  her  he  rose  and  paced 
about  the  room  uneasily.  He  was  filled  with  disquiet, 
with  hazy  apprehension.  His  nerves  were  unsteady,  as 
if  he  were  going  through  an  exhausting  strain.  He  sat 
and  tried  to  force  himself  to  work.  Impossible.  "  What 
sort  of  damn  fool  attack  is  this  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  pac 
ing  about  again.  He  searched  his  mind  in  vain  for  any 
cause  adequate  to  explain  his  unprecedented  state.  "  If 
I  did  not  know  that  I  was  well — absolutely  well — I'd 
think  I  was  about  to  have  an  illness — something  in  the 
brain." 

He  appealed  to  that  friend  in  any  trying  hour,  his 
sense  of  humor.  He  laughed  at  himself ;  but  his  nerves 
refused  to  return  to  the  normal.  He  rushed  from  his 
private  office  on  various  pretexts,  each  time  lingered  in 
the  general  room,  talking  aimlessly  with  Tetlow — and 
watching  the  door.  When  she  at  last  appeared,  he 
guiltily  withdrew,  feeling  that  everyone  was  observing 
his  perturbation  and  was  wondering  at  it  and  jesting 
about  it.  "And  what  the  devil  am  I  excited  about?  " 
he  demanded  of  himself.  What  indeed?  He  seated  him 
self,  rang  the  bell. 

72 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"If  Miss  Hallowell  has  got  back,"  he  said  to  the 
office  boy,  "  please  ask  her  to  come  in." 

"  I  think  she's  gone  out  to  lunch,"  said  the  boy.  "  I 
know  she  came  in  a  while  ago.  She  passed  along  as  you 
was  talking  to  Mr.  Tetlow." 

Norman  felt  himself  flushing.  "  Any  time  will  do," 
he  said,  bending  over  the  papers  spread  out  before  him 
— the  papers  in  the  case  of  the  General  Traction  Com 
pany  resisting  the  payment  of  its  taxes.  A  noisome 
odor  seemed  to  be  rising  from  the  typewritten  sheets. 
He  made  a  wry  face  and  flung  the  papers  aside  with  a 
gesture  of  disgust.  "  They  never  do  anything  honest," 
he  said  to  himself.  "From  the  stock- j obbing  owners 
down  to  the  nickel-filching  conductors  they  steal — steal 
— steal !  "  And  then  he  wondered  at,  laughed  at,  his 
heat.  What  did  it  matter?  An  ant  pilfering  from 
another  ant  and  a  sparrow  stealing  the  crumb  found 
by  another  sparrow — a  man  robbing  another  man — 
all  part  of  the  universal  scheme.  Only  a  narrow-minded 
ignoramus  would  get  himself  wrought  up  over  it;  a 
philosopher  would  laugh — and  take  what  he  needed  or 
happened  to  fancy. 

The  door  opened.  Miss  Hallowell  entered,  a  small 
and  demure  hat  upon  her  masses  of  thick  fair  hair 
arranged  by  anything  but  unskillful  fingers.  "  You 
wished  to  see  me  ?  "  came  in  the  quiet  little  voice,  sweet 
and  frank  and  shy. 

He  roused  himself  from  pretended  abstraction. 
73 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Oh — it's  you  ?  "  he  said  pleasantly.  "  They  said  you 
were  out." 

"  I  was  going  to  lunch.  But  if  you've  anything  for 
me  to  do,  I'll  be  glad  to  stay." 

"  No — no.  I  simply  wished  to  say  that  if  Miss  Bur 
roughs  wished  to  make  an  arrangement  with  you,  we'd 
help  you  about  carrying  out  your  part  of  it." 

She  was  pale — so  pale  that  it  brought  out  strongly 
the  smooth  dead-white  purity  of  her  skin.  Her  small 
features  wore  an  expression  of  pride,  of  haughtiness 
even.  And  in  the  eyes  that  regarded  him  steadily  there 
shone  a  cold  light — the  light  of  a  proud  and  lonely  soul 
that  repels  intrusion  even  as  the  Polar  fastnesses  push 
back  without  effort  assault  upon  their  solitudes.  "  We 
made  no  arrangement,"  said  she. 

"You  are  not  more  than  eighteen,  are  you?"  in 
quired  he  abruptly. 

The  irrelevant  question  startled  her.  She  looked  as 
if  she  thought  she  had  not  heard  aright.  "  I  am 
twenty,"  she  said. 

"  You  have  a  most — most  unusual  way  of  shifting 
to  various  ages  and  personalities,"  explained  he,  with 
some  embarrassment. 

She  simply  looked  at  him  and  waited. 

His  embarrassment  increased.  It  was  a  novel  sen 
sation  to  him,  this  feeling  ill  at  ease  with  a  woman — 
lie  who  was  at  ease  with  everyone  and  put  others  at  their 
ease  or  not  as  he  pleased.  "  I'm  sorry  you  and  Miss 

74 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Burroughs  didn't  arrange  something.  I  suppose  she 
found  the  hours  difficult." 

"  She  made  me  an  offer,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  re 
fused  it." 

"  But,  as  I  told  you,  we  can  let  you  off — anything 
within  reason." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  do  not  care  to  do  that  kind  of 
work.  No  doubt  any  kind  of  work  for  wages  classes 
one  as  a  servant.  But  those  people  up  there — they  make 
one  feel  it — feel  menial." 

"  Not  Miss  Burroughs,  I  assure  you." 

A  satirical  smile  hovered  round  the  girl's  lips.  Her 
face  was  altogether  lovely  now,  and  no  lily  ever  rose 
more  gracefully  from  its  stem  than  did  her  small  head 
from  her  slender  form.  "  She  meant  to  be  kind,  but 
she  was  insulting.  Those  people  up  there  don't  under 
stand.  They're  vain  and  narrow.  Oh,  I  don't  blame 
them.  Only,  I  don't  care  to  be  brought  into  contact 
with  them." 

He  looked  at  her  in  wonder.  She  talked  of  Josephine 
as  if  she  were  Josephine's  superior,  and  her  expression 
and  accent  were  such  that  they  contrived  to  convey  an 
impression  that  she  had  the  right  to  do  it.  He  grew 
suddenly  angry  at  her,  at  himself  for  listening  to  her. 
"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  stiffly,  and  took  up  a  pen  to 
indicate  that  he  wished  her  to  go. 

He  rather  expected  that  she  would  be  alarmed.  But 
if  she  was,  she  wholly  concealed  it.  She  smiled  slightly 

75 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  moved  toward  the  door.  Looking  after  her,  he 
relented.  She  seemed  so  young — was  so  young — and 
was  evidently  poor.  He  said: 

"  It's  all  right  to  be  proud,  Miss  Hallowell.  But 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  supersensitiveness.  You  are 
earning  your  living.  If  you'll  pardon  me  for  thrust 
ing  advice  upon  you,  I  think  you've  made  a  mistake. 
I'm  sure  Miss  Burroughs  meant  well.  If  you  had  been 
less  sensitive  you'd  soon  have  realized  it." 

"  She  patronized  me,"  replied  the  girl,  not  angrily, 
but  with  amusement.  "  It  was  all  I  could  do  not  to 
laugh  in  her  face.  The  idea  of  a  woman  who  probably 
couldn't  make  five  dollars  a  week  fancying  she  was  the 
superior  of  any  girl  who  makes  her  own  living,  no  mat 
ter  how  poor  a  living  it  is." 

Norman  laughed.  It  had  often  appealed  to  his  own 
sense  of  humor,  the  delusion  that  the  tower  one  happened 
to  be  standing  upon  was  part  of  one's  own  stature.  But 
he  said :  "You're  a  very  foolish  young  person.  You'll 
not  get  far  in  the  world  if  you  keep  to  that  road.  It 
winds  through  Poverty  Swamps  to  the  Poor  House." 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  she.    "  One  can  always  die." 

Again  he  laughed.  "  But  why  die  ?  Why  not  be 
sensible  and  live?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  she.  She  was  looking  away 
dreamily,  and  her  eyes  were  wonderful  to  see.  "  There 
are  many  things  I  feel  and  do — and  I  don't  at  all  under 
stand  why.  But — "  An  expression  of  startling  resolu- 

76 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


tion  flashed  across  her  face.     "  But  I  do  them,  just  the 
same." 

A  brief  silence ;  then,  as  she  again  moved  toward  the 
door,  he  said,  "  You  have  been  working  for  some  time?  " 

"  Four  years." 

"  You  support  yourself?  " 

"  I  work  to  help  out  father's  income.  He  makes  al 
most  enough,  but  not  quite." 

Almost  enough !  The  phrase  struck  upon  Norman's 
fancy  as  both  amusing  and  sad.  Almost  enough  for 
what?  For  keeping  body  and  soul  together;  for  keep 
ing  body  barely  decently  clad.  Yet  she  was  content. 
He  said: 

"  You  like  to  work?  " 

"Not  yet.  But  I  think  I  shall  when  I  learn  this 
business.  One  feels  secure  when  one  has  a  trade." 

"  It  doesn't  impress  me  as  an  interesting  life  for 
a  girl  of  your  age,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  unhappy.  And  at  home,  of  even 
ings  and  Sundays,  I'm  happy." 

"Doing  what?" 

"  Reading  and  talking  with  father — and  doing  the 
housework — and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

What  a  monotonous  narrow  little  life !  He  wanted 
to  pity  her,  but  somehow  he  could  not.  There  was  no 
suggestion  in  her  manner  that  she  was  an  object  of 
pity.  "  What  did  Miss  Burroughs  say  to  you — if  I 
may  ask?  " 

77 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Certainly.  You  sent  me,  and  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you.  I  realize  it  was  an  opportunity — for  another 
sort  of  girl.  I  half  tried  to  accept  because  I  knew  re 
fusing  was  only  my — queerness."  She  smiled  charm 
ingly.  "  You  are  not  offended  because  I  couldn't  make 
myself  take  it?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least."  And  all  at  once  he  felt  that 
it  was  true.  This  girl  would  have  been  out  of  place  in 
service.  "  What  was  the  offer  ?  " 

Suddenly  before  him  there  appeared  a  clever,  willful 
child,  full  of  the  childish  passion  for  imitation  and 
mockery.  And  she  proceeded  to  "  take  off  "  the  grand 
Miss  Burroughs — enough  like  Josephine  to  give  the 
satire  point  and  barb.  He  could  see  Josephine  resolved 
to  be  affable  and  equal,  to  make  this  doubtless  bedazzled 
stray  from  the  "  lower  classes  "  feel  comfortable  in  those 
palatial  surroundings.  She  imitated  Josephine's  walk, 
her  way  of  looking,  her  voice  for  the  menials — gracious 
and  condescending.  The  exhibition  was  clever,  free  from 
malice,  redolent  of  humor.  Norman  laughed  until  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"  You  ought  to  go  on  the  stage,"  said  he.  "  How 
Josephine — Miss  Burroughs  would  appreciate  it !  For 
she's  got  a  keen  sense  of  humor." 

"  Not  for  the  real  jokes — like  herself,"  replied  Miss 
Hallowell. 

"  You're  prejudiced." 

"  No.  I  see  her  as  she  is.  Probably  everyone  else 
78 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


— those  around  her — see  her  money  and  her  clothes  and 
all  that.    But  I  saw— just  her." 

He  nodded  thoughtfully.  Then  he  looked  penetrat 
ingly  at  her.  "  How  did  you  happen  to  learn  to  do 
that?  "  he  asked.  "  To  see  people  as  they  are?  " 

"  Father  taught  me."  Her  eyes  lighted  up,  her 
whole  expression  changed.  She  became  beautiful  with 
the  beauty  of  an  intense  and  adoring  love.  "  Father  is 
a  wonderful  man — one  of  the  most  wonderful  that  ever 

lived.    He " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  She  startled;  he 
looked  confused.  Both  awakened  to  a  sense  of  their  for 
gotten  surroundings,  of  who  and  what  they  were.  She 
went  and  Mr.  Sanders  entered.  But  even  in  his  con 
fusion  Norman  marveled  at  the  vanishing  of  the  fascinat 
ing  personality  who  had  been  captivating  him  into  for 
getting  everything  else,  at  the  reappearance  of  the 
blank,  the  pale  and  insignificant  personality  attached 
to  a  typewriting  machine  at  ten  dollars  a  week.  No, 
not  insignificant,  not  blank — never  again  that,  for  him. 
He  saw  now  the  full  reality — and  also  why  he,  everyone, 
was  so  misled.  She  made  him  think  of  the  surface  of 
the  sea  when  the  sky  is  gray  and  the  air  calm.  It  lies 
smooth  and  flat  and  expressionless — inert,  monotonous. 
But  let  sunbeam  strike  or  breeze  ever  so  faint  start  up, 
and  what  a  commotion  of  unending  variety !  He  could 
never  look  at  her  again  without  being  reminded  of  those 
infinite  latent  possibilities,  without  wondering  what  new 

79 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  perhaps  more  charming,  more  surprising  varieties 
of  look  and  tone  and  manner  could  be  evoked. 

And  while  Sanders  was  talking — prosing  on  and  on 
about  things  Norman  either  already  knew  or  did  not 
wish  to  know — he  was  thinking  of  her.  "  If  she  hap 
pens  to  meet  a  man  with  enough  discernment  to  fall  in 
love  with  her,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  he  certainly  will 
never  weary.  What  a  pity  that  such  a  girl  shouldn't 
have  had  a  chance,  should  be  wasted  on  some  unappre- 
ciative  chucklehead  of  her  class !  What  a  pity  she  hasn't 
ambition — or  the  quality,  whatever  it  is — that  makes 
those  who  have  it  get  on,  whether  they  wish  or  no." 

During  the  rest  of  the  day  he  revolved  from  time 
to  time  indistinct  ideas  of  somehow  giving  this  girl  a 
chance.  He  wished  Josephine  would  and  could  help,  or 
perhaps  his  sister  Ursula.  It  was  not  a  matter  that 
could  be  settled,  or  even  taken  up,  in  haste.  No  man 
of  his  mentality  and  experience  fails  to  learn  how  peril 
ous  it  is  in  the  least  to  interfere  in  the  destiny  of  anyone. 
And  his  notion  involved  not  slight  interference  with 
advice  or  suggestion  or  momentarily  extended  helping 
hand,  but  radical  change  of  the  whole  current  of  destiny. 
Also,  he  appreciated  how  difficult  it  is  for  a  man  to  do 
anything  for  a  young  woman — anything  that  would  not 
harm  more  than  it  would  help.  Only  one  thing  seemed 
clear  to  him — the  "  clever  child "  ought  to  have  a 
chance. 

He  went  to  see  Josephine  after  dinner  that  night. 
80 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


His  own  house,  while  richly  and  showily  furnished,  as 
became  his  means  and  station,  seemed — and  indeed  was 
— merely  an  example  of  simple,  old-fashioned  "  solid 
comfort "  in  comparison  with  the  Burroughs  palace. 
He  had  never  liked,  but,  being  a  true  New  Yorker,  had 
greatly  admired  the  splendor  of  that  palace,  its  costly 
art  junk,  its  rotten  old  tapestries,  its  unlovely  genuine 
antiques,  its  room  after  room  of  tasteless  magnificence, 
suggesting  a  museum,  or  rather  the  combination  home 
and  salesroom  of  an  art  dealer.  This  evening  he  found 
himself  curious,  critical,  disposed  to  license  a  long-sup 
pressed  sense  of  humor.  While  he  was  waiting  for 
Josephine  to  come  down  to  the  small  salon  into  which 
he  had  been  shown,  her  older  sister  drifted  in,  on  the 
way  to  a  late  dinner  and  ball.  She  eyed  him  admir 
ingly  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You've  such  an  air,  Fred,"  said  she.  "  You  should 
hear  the  butler  on  the  subject  of  you.  He  says  that 
of  all  the  men  who  come  to  the  house  you  are  most  the 
man  of  the  world.  He  says  he  could  tell  it  by  the  way; 
you  walk  in  and  take  off  your  hat  and  coat  and  throw 
them  at  him." 

Norman  laughed  and  said,  "  I  didn't  know.  I  must 
stop  that." 

"  Don't!  "  cried  Mrs.  Bellowes.  "  You'll  break  his 
heart.  He  adores  it.  You  know,  servants  dearly  love 
to  be  treated  as  servants.  Anyone  who  thinks  the  world 
loves  equality  knows  very  little  about  human  nature. 

81 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Most  people  love  to  look  up,  just  as  most  women  love 
to  be  ruled.  No,  you  must  continue  to  be  the  master, 
the  man  of  the  world,  Fred." 

She  was  busy  with  her  gorgeous  and  trailing  wraps 
and  with  her  cigarette  or  she  would  have  seen  his  con 
fusion.  He  was  recalling  his  scene  with  the  typewriter 
girl.  Not  much  of  the  man  of  the  world,  then  and 
there,  certainly.  What  a  grotesque  performance  for  a 
man  of  his  position,  for  a  serious  man  of  any  kind !  And 
how  came  he  to  permit  such  a  person  to  mimic  Josephine 
Burroughs,  a  lady,  the  woman  to  whom  he  was  engaged  ? 
In  these  proud  and  pretentious  surroundings  he  felt 
contemptibly  guilty — and  dazed  wonder  at  his  own  in 
explicable  folly  and  weakness. 

Mrs.  Bellowes  departed  before  Josephine  came  down. 
So  there  was  no  relief  for  his  embarrassment.  He  saw 
that  she  too  felt  constrained.  Instead  of  meeting  him 
half  way  in  embrace  and  kiss,  as  she  usually  did,  she 
threw  him  a  kiss  and  pretended  to  be  busy  lighting 
a  cigarette  and  arranging  the  shades  of  the  table  lamp. 
"  Well,  I  saw  your  *  poor  little  creature,'  "  she  began. 
She  was  splendidly  direct  in  all  her  dealings,  after  the 
manner  of  people  who  have  never  had  to  make  their  own 
way — to  cajole  or  conciliate  or  dread  the  consequences 
of  frankness. 

"  I  told  you  you'd  not  find  her  interesting." 

"  Oh,  she  was  a  nice  little  girl,"  replied  Josephine 
with  elaborate  graciousness — and  Norman,  the  "  take- 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


off  "  fresh  in  his  mind,  was  acutely  critical  of  her  man 
ner,  of  her  mannerisms.  "  Of  course,"  she  went  on, 
"  one  does  not  expect  much  of  people  of  that  class.  But 
I  thought  her  unusually  well-mannered — and  quite 
clean." 

"  Tetlow  makes  'em  clean  up,"  said  Norman,  a 
gleam  of  sarcasm  in  his  careless  glance  and  tone.  And 
into  his  nostrils  stole  an  odor  of  freshness  and  health 
and  youth,  the  pure,  sweet  odor  that  is  the  base  of  all 
the  natural  perfumes.  It  startled  him,  his  vivid  memory 
of  a  feature  of  her  which  he  had  not  been  until  now 
aware  that  he  had  ever  noted. 

"  I  offered  her  some  work,"  continued  Josephine, 
"  but  I  guess  you  keep  her  too  busy  down  there  for  her 
to  do  anything  else." 

"  Probably,"  said  Norman.  "  Why  do  you  sit  on 
the  other  side  of  the  room  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  laughed  Josephine.  "  I  feel 
queer  to-night.  And  it  seems  to  me  you're  queer,  too." 

"  I?     Perhaps  rather  tired,  dear— that's  all." 

"  Did  you  and  Miss  Hallowell  work  hard  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother  Miss  Hallowell.  Let's  talk  about  our 
selves."  And  he  drew  her  to  the  sofa  at  one  end  of  the 
big  fireplace.  "  I  wish  we  hadn't  set  the  wedding  so  far 
off."  And  suddenly  he  found  himself  wondering 
whether  that  remark  had  been  prompted  by  eagerness — 
a  lover's  eagerness — or  by  impatience  to  have  the  busi 
ness  over  and  settled. 

85 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You  don't  act  a  bit  natural  to-night,  Fred.  You 
touch  me  as  if  I  were  a  stranger." 

66 1  like  that !  "  mocked  he.  "  A  stranger  hold  your 
hand  like  this  ? — and — kiss  you — like  this  ?  " 

She  drew  away,  suddenly  laid  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  kissed  him  upon  the  lips  passionately,  then 
looked  into  his  eyes.  "  Do  you  love  me,  Fred? — 
really?  " 

"Why  so  earnest?" 

"  You've  had  a  great  deal  of  experience  ?  " 

"  More  or  less." 

"  Have  you  ever  loved  any  woman  as  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  I've  never  loved  any  woman  but  you.  I  never 
before  wanted  to  marry  a  woman." 

"  But  you  may  be  doing  it  because — well,  you  might 
be  tired  and  want  to  settle  down." 

"Do  you  believe  that?" 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  I  want  to  hear  you  say  it  isn't 
so." 

"  Well— it  isn't  so.     Are  you  satisfied?  " 

"  I'm  frightfully  j  ealous  of  you,  Fred." 

"  What  a  waste  of  time-!  " 

"  I've  got  something  to  confess — something  I'm 
ashamed  of." 

"  Don't  confess,"  cried  he,  laughing  but  showing 
that  he  meant  it.  "  Just — don't  be  wicked  again. 
That's  much  better  than  confession." 

"  But  I  must  confess,"  insisted  she.  "  I  had  evil 
84 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


thoughts — evil  suspicions  about  you.  I've  had  them 
all  day — until  you  came.  As  soon  as  I  saw  you  I  felt 
bowed  into  the  dust.  A  man  like  you,  doing  anything 
so  vulgar  as  I  suspected  you  of — oh,  dearest,  I'm  so 
ashamed!" 

He  put  his  arms  round  her  and  drew  her  to  his 
shoulder.  And  the  scene  of  mimicry  in  his  office  flashed 
into  his  mind,  and  the  blood  burned  in  his  cheeks.  But 
he  had  no  such  access  of  insanity  as  to  entertain  the 
idea  of  confession. 

"  It  was  that  typewriter  girl,"  continued  Josephine. 
She  drew  away  again  and  once  more  searched  his  face. 
"  You  told  me  she  was  homely." 

"  Not  exactly  that." 

"  Insignificant  then." 

"Isn't  she?" 

"  Yes — in  a  way,"  said  Josephine,  the  condescend 
ing  note  in  her  voice  again — and  in  his  mind  Miss  Hal- 
lowell's  clever  burlesque  of  that  note.  "  But,  in  another 
way —  Men  are  different  from  women.  Now  I — a 
woman  of  my  sort — couldn't  stoop  to  a  man  of  her 
class.  But  men  seem  not  to  feel  that  way." 

"  No,"  said  he,  irritated.  "  They've  the  courage  to  \ 
take  what  they  want  wherever  they  find  it.  A  man  will 
take  gold  out  of  the  dirt,  because  gold  is  always  gold. 
But  a  woman  waits  until  she  can  get  it  at  a  fashionable 
jeweler's,  and  makes  sure  it's  made  up  in  a  fashionable 
way.  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  say  those  things." 

85 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Her  eyes  flashed.  "  Then  you  do  like  that  Hallo- 
well  girl !  "  she  cried — and  never  before  had  her  voice 
jarred  upon  him. 

"  That  Hallowell  girl  has  nothing  to  do  with  this," 
he  rejoined.  "  I  like  to  feel  that  you  really  love  me— 
that  you'd  have  taken  me  wherever  you  happened  to 
find  me — and  that  you'd  stick  to  me  no  matter  how  far 
I  might  drop." 

"  I  would !  I  would !  "  she  cried,  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,  Fred.  You  know  I  didn't— 
don't  you?" 

She  tried  to  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  but  he 
took  her  hands  and  held  them.  "  Would  you  like  to 
think  I  was  marrying  you  for  what  you  have? — or  for 
any  other  reason  whatever  but  for  what  you  are  ?  " 

It  being  once  more  a  question  of  her  own  sex,  the 
obstinate  line  appeared  round  her  mouth.  "  But,  Fred, 
I'd  not  be  me,  if  I  were — a  working  girl,"  she  replied. 

"  You  might  be  something  even  better  if  you  were," 
retorted  he  coldly.  "  The  only  qualities  I  don't  like 
about  you  are  the  surface  qualities  that  have  been 
plated  on  in  these  surroundings.  And  if  I  thought  it 
was  anything  but  just  you  that  I  was  marrying,  I'd 
lose  no  time  about  leaving  you.  I'd  not  let  myself  de 
grade  myself." 

"  Fred — that  tone — and  don't — please  don't  look  at 
me  like  that !  "  she  begged. 

But  his  powerful  glance  searched  on.  He  said,  "  Is 
86 


r  f 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


it  possible  that  you  and  I  are  deceiving  ourselves — and 
that  we'll  marry  and  wake  up — and  be  bored  and  dis 
satisfied — like  so  many  of  our  friends?  " 

"  No — no,"  she  cried,  wildly  agitated.  "  Fred,  dear 
— we  love  each  other.  You  know  we  do.  I  don't  use 
words  as  well  as  you  do — and  my  mind  works  in  a  queer 
way —  Perhaps  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said.  No  matter. 
If  my  love  were  put  to  the  test — Fred,  I  don't  ask 
anything  more  than  that  your  love  for  me  would  stand 
the  tests  my  love  for  you  would  stand." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  with  more 
passion  than  he  had  ever  felt  for  her  before.  "  I  be- 
Heve  you,  Jo,"  he  said.  "  I  believe  you." 

"  I  love  you  so — that  I  could  be  j  ealous  even  of 
her — of  that  little  girl  in  your  office.  Fred,  I  didn't 
confess  all  the  truth.  It  isn't  true  that  I  thought  her 
— a  nobody.  When  she  first  came  in  here — it  was  in 
this  very  room — I  thought  she  was  as  near  nothing 
as  any  girl  I'd  ever  seen.  Then  she  began  to  change — 
as  you  said.  And — oh,  dearest,  I  can't  help  hating  her ! 
And  when  I  tried  to  get  her  away  from  you,  and  she 
wouldn't  come " 

"  Away  from  me !  "  he  cried,  laughing. 

"  I  felt  as  if  it  were  like  that,"  she  pleaded.  "  And 
she  wouldn't  come — and  treated  me  as  if  she  were  queen 
and  I  servant — only  politely,  I  must  say,  for  Heaven 
knows  I  don't  want  to  injure  her " 

"  Shall  I  have  her  discharged?  " 
87 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Fred !  "  exclaimed  she  indignantly.  "  Do  you 
think  I  could  do  such  a  thing?  " 

"  She'd  easily  get  another  job  as  good.  Tetlow 
can  find  her  one.  Does  that  satisfy  you?  " 

"  No,"  she  confessed.  "  It  makes  me  feel  meaner 
than  ever." 

"  Now,  Jo,  let's  drop  this  foolish  seriousness  about 
nothing  at  all.  Let's  drop  it  for  good." 

"  Nothing  at  all — that's  exactly  it.  I  can't  under 
stand,  Fred.  What  is  there  about  her  that  makes  her 
haunt  me  ?  That  makes  me  afraid  she'll  haunt  you  ?  " 

Norman  felt  a  sudden  thrill.  He  tightened  his  hold 
upon  her  hands  because  his  impulse  had  been  to  release 
them.  "  How  absurd !  "  he  said,  rather  noisily. 

"Isn't  it,  though?"  echoed  she.  "Think  of  you 
and  me  almost  quarreling  about  such  a  trivial  person." 
Her  laugh  died  away.  She  shivered,  cried,  "  Fred,  I'm 
superstitious  about  her.  I'm — I'm — afraid!  "  And  she 
flung  herself  wildly  into  his  arms. 

"  She  is  somewhat  uncanny,"  said  he,  with  a  light 
ness  he  was  far  from  feeling.  "  But,  dear — it  isn't  com 
plimentary  to  me,  is  it?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  dearest  —  I  don't  mean  that.  I 
couldn't  mean  that.  But — I  love  you  so.  Ever  since  I 
began  to  love  you  I've  been  looking  round  for  some 
thing  to  be  afraid  of.  And  this  is  the  first  chance 
you've  given  me." 

"  I've  given  you !  "  mocked  he. 
88 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  laughed  hysterically.  "  I  mean  the  first  chance 
I've  had.  And  I'm  doing  the  best  I  can  with  it." 

They  were  in  good  spirits  now,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening  were  as  loverlike  as  always,  the  nearer  to 
gether  for  the  bit  of  rough  sea  they  had  weathered  so 
nicely.  Neither  spoke  of  Miss  Hallowell.  Each  had 
privately  resolved  never  to  speak  of  her  to  the  other 
again.  Josephine  was  already  regretting  the  frankness 
that  had  led  her  to  expose  a  not  too  attractive  part  of 
herself — and  to  exaggerate  in  his  eyes  the  importance 
of  a  really  insignificant  chit  of  a  typewriter.  When  he 
went  to  bed  that  night  he  was  resolved  to  have  Tetlow 
find  Miss  Hallowell  a  job  in  another  office. 

"  She  certainly  is  uncanny,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I 
wonder  why — I  wonder  what  the  secret  of  her  is.  She's 
the  first  woman  I  ever  ran  across  who  had  a  real  secret. 
Is  it  real?  I  wonder." 


TOWARD  noon  the  following  day  Norman,  suddenly 
in  need  of  a  stenographer,  sent  out  for  Miss  Purdy,  one 
of  the  three  experts  at  eighteen  dollars  a  week  who 
did  most  of  the  important  and  very  confidential  work 
for  the  heads  of  the  firm.  When  his  door  opened  again 
he  saw  not  Miss  Purdy  but  Miss  Hallowell. 

"  Miss  Purdy  is  sick  to-day,"  said  she.  "  Mr.  Tet- 
low  wishes  to  know  if  I  would  do." 

Norman  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  Just  as 
well — perfectly — certainly,"  he  stammered.  He  was  not 
looking  at  her — seemed  wholly  occupied  with  the  busi 
ness  he  was  preparing  to  dispatch. 

She  seated  herself  in  the  usual  place,  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  broad  table.  With  pencil  poised  she  fixed 
her  gaze  upon  the  unmarred  page  of  her  open  notebook. 
Instead  of  abating,  his  confusion  increased.  He  could 
not  think  of  the  subject  about  which  he  wished  to  dic 
tate.  First,  he  noted  how  long  her  lashes  were — and 
darker  than  her  hair,  as  were  her  well-drawn  eyebrows 
also.  Never  had  he  seen  so  white  a  skin  or  one  so 
smooth.  She  happened  to  be  wearing  a  blouse  with  a 
Dutch  neck  that  day.  What  a  superb  throat !  What 

90 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


a  line  of  beauty  its  gently  swelling  curve  made.  Then 
his  glance  fell  upon  her  lips,  rosy-red,  slightly  pouted. 
And  what  masses  of  dead  gold  hair — no,  not  gold,  but 
of  the  white-gray  of  wood  ashes,  and  tinted  with  gold ! 
No  wonder  it  was  difficult  to  tell  just  what  color  her 
hair  was.  Hair  like  that  was  ready  to  be  of  any  color. 
And  there  were  her  arms,  so  symmetrical  in  her  rather 
tight  sleeves,  and  emerging  into  view  in  the  most  delicate 
wrists.  What  a  marvelous  skin ! 

"  Have  you  ever  posed?  " 

She  startled  and  the  color  flamed  in  her  cheeks.  Her 
eyes  shot  a  glance  of  terror  at  him.  "  I — I,"  she  stam 
mered.  Then  almost  defiantly,  "  Yes,  I  did — for  a  while. 
But  I  didn't  suppose  anyone  knew.  At  the  time  we 
needed  the  money  badly." 

Norman  felt  deep  disgust  with  himself  for  bursting 
out  with  such  a  question,  and  for  having  surprised  her 
secret.  "  There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  he  said 
gently. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  ashamed,"  she  returned.  Her  agita 
tion  had  subsided.  "  The  only  reason  I  quit  was  be 
cause  the  work  was  terribly  hard  and  the  pay  small  and 
uncertain.  I  was  confused  because  they  discharged  me 
at  the  last  place  I  had,  when  they  found  out  I  had  been 
a  model.  It  was  a  church  paper  office." 

Again  she  poised  her  pencil  and  lowered  her  eyes. 
But  he  did  not  take  the  hint.     "  Is  there  anything  you 
would  rather  do  than  this  sort  of  work  ?  "  he  asked. 
4  91 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Nothing  I  could  afford,"  replied  she. 

"  If  you  had  been  kind  to  Miss  Burroughs  yester 
day  she  would  have  helped  you." 

"  I  couldn't  afford  to  do  that,"  said  the  girl  in  her 
quiet,  reticent  way. 

"To  do  what?" 

"  To  be  nice  to  anyone  for  what  I  could  get  out 
of  it." 

Norman  smiled  somewhat  cynically.  Probably  the 
girl  fancied  she  was  truthful;  but  human  beings  rarely 
knew  anything  about  their  real  selves.  "  What  would 
you  like  to  do  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  his  question  until  she  had  shrunk 
completely  within  herself  and  was  again  thickly  veiled 
with  the  expression  which  made  everyone  think  her  insig 
nificant.  "  Nothing  I  could  afford  to  do,"  said  she. 
It  was  plain  that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  questioned  fur 
ther  along  that  line. 

"  The  stage?  "  he  persisted. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  was  her  answer. 

"What  then?" 

"  I  don't  think  about  things  I  can't  have.  I  never 
made  any  definite  plans." 

"  But  isn't  it  a  good  idea  always  to  look  ahead  ?  As 
long  as  one  has  to  be  moving,  one  might  as  well  move  in 
a  definite  direction." 

She  was  waiting  with  pencil  poised. 

"  There  isn't  much  of  a  future  at  this  business." 
92 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  shrank  slightly.  He  felt  that  she  regarded  his 
remark  as  preparation  for  a  kindly  hint  that  she  was 
not  giving  satisfaction.  ...  Well,  why  not  leave  it  that 
way?  Perhaps  she  would  quit  of  her  own  accord — • 
would  spare  him  the  trouble — and  embarrassment — of 
arranging  with  Tetlow  for  another  place  for  her.  He 
began  to  dictate — gave  her  a  few  sentences  mockingly 
different  from  his  usual  terse  and  clear  statements — 
interrupted  himself  with: 

"  You  misunderstood  me  a  while  ago.  I  didn't 
mean  you  weren't  doing  your  work  well.  On  the  con 
trary,  I  think  you'll  soon  be  expert.  But  I  thought 
perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  help  you  to  something  you'd 
like  better." 

He  listened  to  his  own  words  in  astonishment.  What 
new  freak  of  madness  was  this?  Instead  of  clearing 
himself  of  this  uncanny  girl,  he  was  proposing  things 
to  her  that  would  mean  closer  relations.  And  what 
reason  had  he  to  think  she  was  fitted  for  anything  but 
just  what  she  was  now  doing — doing  indifferently  well? 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  so  quietly  that  it  seemed 
coldly,  "  but  I'm  satisfied  as  I  am." 

Her  manner  seemed  to  say  with  polite  and  restrained 
plainness  that  she  was  not  in  the  least  appreciative  of 
his  interest  or  of  himself.  But  this  could  not  be.  No  girl 
in  her  position  could  fail  to  be  grateful  for  his  interest. 
No  woman,  in  all  his  life,  had  ever  failed  to  respond  to 
his  slightest  advance.  No,  it  simply  could  not  be.  She 

93 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


was  merely  shy,  and  had  a  peculiar  way  of  showing  it. 
He  said: 

"  You  have  no  ambition  ?  " 

"  That's  not  for  a  woman." 

She  was  making  her  replies  as  brief  as  civility  per 
mitted.  He  observed  her  narrowly.  She  was  not  shy, 
not  embarrassed.  What  kind  of  game  was  this?  It 
could  not  be  in  sincere  nature  for  a  person  in  her  posi 
tion  thus  to  treat  overtures,  friendly  and  courteous  over 
tures,  from  one  in  his  position.  And  never  before — 
never — had  a  woman  been  thus  unresponsive.  Instead 
of  feeling  relief  that  she  had  disentangled  him  from  the 
plight  into  which  his  impulsive  offer  had  flung  him,  he 
was  piqued — angered — and  his  curiosity  was  inflamed 
as  never  before  about  any  woman. 

The  relations  of  the  sexes  are  for  the  most  part 
governed  by  traditions  of  sex  allurements  and  sex  tricks 
so  ancient  that  they  have  ceased  to  be  conscious  and 
have  become  instinctive.  One  of  these  venerable  first 
principles  is  that  mystery  is  the  arch  provoker.  Nor 
man,  an  old  and  expert  student  of  the  great  game — the 
only  game  for  which  the  staidest  and  most  serious  will 
abandon  all  else  to  follow  its  merry  call — Norman  knew 
this  trick  of  mystery.  The  woman  veils  herself  and 
makes  believe  to  fly — an  excellent  trick,  as  good  to-day 
as  ever  after  five  thousand  years  of  service.  And  he 
knew  that  in  it  lay  the  explanation  for  the  sudden  and 
high  upflaming  of  his  interest  in  this  girl.  "  What  an 

94 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ass  I'm  making  of  myself !  "  reflected  he.  "  When  I 
care  nothing  about  the  girl,  why  should  I  care  about 
the  mystery  of  her?  Of  course,  it's  some  poor  little 
affair,  a  puzzle  not  worth  puzzling  out." 

All  true  and  clear  enough.  Yet  seeing  it  did  not 
abate  his  interest  a  particle.  She  had  veiled  herself; 
she  was  pretending — perhaps  honestly — to  fly.  He 
rose  and  went  to  the  window,  stood  with  his  back  to 
her,  resumed  dictating.  But  the  sentences  would  not 
come.  He  whirled  abruptly.  "  I'm  not  ready  to  do  the 
thing  yet,"  he  said.  "  I'll  send  for  you  later." 

Without  a  word  or  a  glance  she  stood,  took  her  book 
and  went  toward  the  door.  He  gazed  after  her.  He 
could  not  refrain  from  speaking  again.  "  I'm  afraid 
you  misunderstood  my  offer  a  while  ago,"  said  he, 
neither  curt  nor  friendly.  "  I  forgot  how  such  things 
from  a  man  to  a  young  woman  might  be  misinter 
preted." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  replied  she  unembar 
rassed.  "  It  was  simply  that  I  can't  put  myself  under 
obligation  to  anyone." 

As  she  stood  there,  her  full  beauty  flashed  upon 
him — the  exquisite  form,  the  subtly  graceful  poise  of 
her  body,  of  her  head — the  loveliness  of  that  golden- 
hued  white  skin — the  charm  of  her  small  rosy  mouth — 
the  delicate,  sensitive,  slightly  tilted  nose — and  her  eyes 
— above  all,  her  eyes ! — so  clear,  so  sweet.  Her  voice 
had  seemed  thin  and  faint  to  him ;  its  fineness  now  seemed 

95 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  rarest  delicacy — the  exactly  fitting  kind  for  so 
evasive  and  delicate  a  beauty  as  hers.  He  made  a  slight 
bow  of  dismissal,  turned  abruptly  away.  Never  in  all 
his  life,  strewn  with  gallant  experiences — never  had  a 
woman  thus  treated  him,  and  never  had  a  woman  thus 
affected  him.  "  I  am  mad — stark  mad !  "  he  muttered. 
"  A  ten-dollar-a-week  typewriter,  whom  nobody  on  earth 
but  myself  would  look  at  a  second  time ! "  But  some 
thing  within  him  hurled  back  this  scornful  fling. 
Though  no  one  else  on  earth  saw  or  appreciated — what 
of  it?  She  affected  him  thus — and  that  was  enough. 
"  7  want  her !  .  .  .  I  want  her !  I  have  never  wanted  a 
woman  before." 

He  rushed  into  the  dressing  room  attached  to  his 
office,  plunged  his  face  into  ice-cold  water.  This  some 
what  eased  the  burning  sensation  that  was  becoming 
intolerable.  Many  were  the  unaccountable  incidents  in 
his  acquaintance  with  this  strange  creature ;  the  most 
preposterous  was  this  sudden  seizure.  He  realized  now 
that  his  feeling  for  her  had  been  like  the  quiet,  steady, 
imperceptible  filling  of  a  reservoir  that  suddenly  an 
nounces  itself  by  the  thunder  and  roar  of  a  mighty 
cascade  over  the  dam.  "  This  is  madness — sheer  mad 
ness  !  I  am  still  master  within  myself.  I  will  make 
short  work  of  this  rebellion."  And  with  an  air  of  calm 
ness  so  convincing  that  he  believed  in  it  he  addressed 
himself  to  the  task  of  sanity  and  wisdom  lying  plain 
before  him.  "  A  man  of  my  position  caught  by  a  girl 

96 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


like  that !  A  man  such  as  I  am,  caught  by  any  woman 
whatever !  "  It  was  grotesque.  He  opened  his  door  to 
summon  Tetlow. 

The  gate  in  the  outside  railing  was  directly  op 
posite,  and  about  thirty  feet  away.  Tetlow  and  Miss 
Hallowell  were  going  out — evidently  to  lunch  together. 
She  was  looking  up  at  the  chief  clerk  with  laughing 
eyes — they  seemed  coquettish  to  the  infuriated  Norman. 
And  Tetlow — the  serious  and  squab  young  ass  was 
gazing  at  her  with  the  expression  men  of  the  stupid 
squab  sort  put  on  when  they  wish  to  impress  a  woman. 
At  this  spectacle,  at  the  vision  of  that  slim  young  love 
liness,  that  perfect  form  and  deliciously  smooth  soft 
skin,  white  beyond  belief  beneath  its  faintly  golden  tint 
— the  hot  blood  steamed  up  into  Norman's  brain,  blinded 
his  sight,  reddened  it  with  desire  and  jealousy.  He 
drew  back,  closed  his  door  with  a  bang. 

"  This  is  not  I,"  he  muttered.  "  What  has  hap 
pened  ?  Am  I  insane  ?  " 

When  Tetlow  returned  from  lunch  the  office  boy  on 
duty  at  the  gate  told  him  that  Mr.  Norman  wished  to 
see  him  at  once.  Like  all  men  trying  to  advance  along 
ways  where  their  fellow  men  can  help  or  hinder,  the  head 
clerk  was  full  of  more  or  less  clever  little  tricks  thought 
out  with  a  view  to  making  a  good  impression.  One  of 
them  was  to  stamp  upon  all  minds  his  virtue  of  prompt 
ness — of  what  use  to  be  prompt  unless  you  forced  every 

97 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


one  to  feel  how  prompt  you  were?  He  went  in  to  see 
Norman,  with  hat  in  hand  and  overcoat  on  his  back  and 
one  glove  off,  the  other  still  on.  Norman  was  standing 
at  a  window,  smoking  a  cigarette.  His  appearance — 
dress  quite  as  much  as  manner — was  the  envy  of  his 
subordinate — as,  indeed,  it  was  of  hundreds  of  the 
young  men  struggling  to  rise  down  town.  It  was  so 
exactly  what  the  appearance  of  a  man  of  vigor  and 
power  and  high  position  should  be.  Tetlow  practiced 
it  by  the  quarter  hour  before  his  glass  at  home — not 
without  progress  in  the  direction  of  a  not  unimpressive 
manner  of  his  own. 

As  Tetlow  stood  at  attention,  Norman  turned  and 
advanced  toward  him.  "  Mr.  Tetlow,"  he  began,  in  his 
good-humored  voice  with  the  never  wholly  submerged 
under-note  of  sharpness,  "  is  it  your  habit  to  go  out  to 
lunch  with  the  young  ladies  employed  here?  If  so,  I 
wish  to  suggest — simply  to  suggest — that  it  may  be 
bad  for  discipline." 

Tetlow's  jaw  dropped  a  little.  He  looked  at  Nor 
man,  was  astonished  to  discover  beneath  a  thin  veneer  of 
calm  signs  of  greater  agitation  than  he  had  ever  seen  in 
him.  "  To-day  was  the  first  time,  sir,"  he  said.  "  And 
I  can't  quite  account  for  my  doing  it.  Miss  HalloweH 
has  been  here  several  months.  I  never  specially  noticed 
her  until  the  last  few  days — when  the  question  of  dis 
charging  her  came  up.  You  may  remember  it  was  set 
tled  by  you." 

98 


THE    GRAIN    OF   DUST 


Norman  flung  his  cigarette  away  and  stalked  to  the 
window. 

"  Mr.  Norman,"  pursued  Tetlow,  "  you  and  I  have 
been  together  many  years.  I  esteem  it  my  greatest 
honor  that  I  am  able — that  you  permit  me — to  class 
you  as  my  friend.  So  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  confi 
dence — one  that  really  startles  me.  I  called  on  Miss 
Hallowell  last  night." 

Norman's  back  stiffened. 

"  She  is  even  more  charming  in  her  own  home. 
And —  Tetlow  blushed  and  trembled —  "  I  am  going 
to  make  her  my  wife  if  I  can." 

Norman  turned,  a  mocking  satirical  smile  unpleas 
antly  sparkling  in  his  eyes  and  curling  his  mouth. 
"  Old  man,"  he  said,  "  I  think  you've  gone  crazy." 

Tetlow  made  a  helpless  gesture.  "  I  think  so  my 
self.  I  didn't  intend  to  marry  for  ten  years — and  then 
— I  had  quite  a  different  match  in  mind." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Billy  ?  "  inquired 
Norman,  inspecting  him  with  smiling,  cruelly  unfriendly 
eyes. 

"  I'm  damned  if  I  know,  Norman,"  said  the  head 
clerk,  assuming  that  his  friend  was  sympathetic  and 
dropping  into  the  informality  of  the  old  days  when  they 
were  clerks  together  in  a  small  firm.  "  I'd  have  pro 
posed  to  her  last  night  if  I  hadn't  been  afraid  I'd  lose 
her  by  being  in  such  a  hurry.  .  .  .  You're  in  love  your 
self." 

99 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman  startled  violently. 

"  You're  going  to  get  married.  Probably  you  can 
sympathize.  You  know  how  it  is  to  meet  the  woman 
you  want  and  must  have." 

Norman  turned  away. 

"  I've  had — or  thought  I  had — rather  advanced 
ideas  on  the  subject  of  women.  I've  always  had  a  hor 
ror  of  being  married  for  a  living  or  for  a  home  or  as 
an  experiment  or  a  springboard.  My  notion's  been 
that  I  wouldn't  trust  a  woman  who  wasn't  independent. 
And  theoretically  I  still  think  that's  sound.  But  it 
doesn't  work  out  in  practice.  A  man  has  to  have  been 
in  love  to  be  able  to  speak  the  last  word  on  the  sex  ques 
tion." 

Norman  dropped  heavily  into  his  desk  chair  and 
rumpled  his  hair  into  disorder.  He  muttered  something 
— the  head  clerk  thought  it  was  an  oath. 

"  I'd  marry  her,"  Tetlow  went  on,  "  if  I  knew  she 
was  simply  using  me  in  the  coldest,  most  calculating 
way.  My  only  fear  is  that  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  her 
— that  she  won't  marry  me." 

Norman  sneered.     "  That's  not  likely,"  he  said. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  admitted  Tetlow.  "  They— the 
Hallowells — are  nice  people — of  as  good  family  as  there 
is.  But  they're  poor — very  poor.  There's  only  her 
father  and  herself.  The  old  man  is  a  scientist — spends 
most  of  his  time  at  things  that  won't  pay  a  cent — ut 
terly  impractical.  A  gentleman — an  able  man,  if  a 

100 


THE   GRAiy   OF  J?UST_ . 


little  cracked — at  least  he  seemed  so  to  me  who  don't 
know  much  about  scientific  matters.  But  getting  poorer 
steadily.  So  I  think  she  will  accept  me." 

A  gloomy,  angry  frown,  like  a  black  shadow,  passed 
across  Norman's  face  and  disappeared.  "  You'd  marry 
her — on  those  terms  ?  "  he  sneered. 

"  Of  course  I  hope  for  better  terms " 

Norman  sprang  up,  strode  to  the  window  and  turned 
his  back. 

"  But  I'm  prepared  for  the  worst.  The  fact  is,  she 
treats  me  as  if  she  didn't  care  a  rap  for  the  honor  of 
my  showing  her  attention." 

"  A  trick,  Billy.     An  old  trick." 

66  Maybe  so.  But —  I  really  believe  she  doesn't 
realize.  She's  queer — has  been  queerly  brought  up.  Yes, 
I  think  she  doesn't  appreciate.  Then,  too,  she's  young 
and  light — almost  childish  in  some  ways.  ...  I  don't 
blame  you  for  being  disgusted  with  me,  Fred.  But — 
damn  it,  what's  a  man  to  do?  " 

"  Cure  himself !  "  exploded  Norman,  wheeling  vio 
lently  on  his  friend.  "  You  must  act  like  a  man.  Billy, 
such  a  marriage  is  ruin  for  you.  How  can  we  take  you 
into  partnership  next  year?  When  you  marry,  you 
must  marry  in  the  class  you're  moving  toward,  not  in 
any  of  those  you're  leaving  behind." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  thought  of  all  that?  " 
rejoined  Tetlow  bitterly.  "But  I  can't  help  myself. 
It's  useless  for  me  to  say  I'll  try.  I  shan't  try." 

101 


THE   G.RAIN   OF   DUST 


"Don't  you  want  to  get  over  this?"  demanded 
Norman  fiercely. 

"Of  course—  No — I  don't.  Fred,  you'd  think 
better  of  me  if  you  knew  her.  You've  never  especially 
noticed  her.  She's  beautiful." 

Norman  dropped  to  his  chair  again. 

"  Really — beautiful,"  protested  Tetlow,  assuming 
that  the  gesture  was  one  of  disgusted  denial.  "  Take 
a  good  look  at  her,  Norman,  before  you  condemn  her. 
I  never  was  so  astonished  as  when  I  discovered  how 
good-looking  she  is.  I  don't  quite  know  how  it  is,  but  I 
suppose  nobody  ever  happened  to  see  how — how  lovely 
she  is  until  I  just  chanced  to  see  it."  At  a  rudely 
abrupt  gesture  from  Norman  he  hurried  on,  eagerly 
apologetic,  "  And  if  you  talk  with  her —  She's  very 
reserved.  But  she's  the  lady  through  and  through — 
and  has  a  good  mind.  .  .  .  At  least,  I  think  she  has. 
I'll  admit  a  man  in  love  is  a  poor  judge  of  a  woman's 
mind.  But,  anyhow,  I  know  she's  lovely  to  look  at. 
You'll  see  it  yourself,  now  that  I've  called  your  atten 
tion  to  it.  You  can't  fail  to  see  it." 

Norman  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  clasped 
his  hands  behind  his  head.  :*  Why  do  you  want  to 
marry  her?  "  he  inquired,  in  a  tone  his  sensitive  ear 
approved  as  judicial. 

"  How  can  I  tell?  "  replied  the  head  clerk  irritably. 
"  Does  a  man  ever  know  ?  " 

"  Always — when  he's  sensibly  in  love." 


THE    GRAIN    OF   DUST 


"But  when  he's  just  in  love?  That's  what  ails 
me,"  retorted  Tetlow,  with  a  sheepish  look  and  laugh. 

"  Billy,  you've  got  to  get  over  this.  I  can't  let 
you  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

Tetlow's  fat,  smooth,  pasty  face  of  the  overfed, 
underexercised  professional  man  became  a  curious  ex 
hibit  of  alarm  and  obstinacy. 

"  You've  got  to  promise  me  you'll  keep  away  from 
her — except  at  the  office — for — say,  a  week.  Then — 
we'll  see." 

Tetlow  debated. 

"  It's  highly  improbable  that  anyone  else  will  dis 
cover  these  irresistible  charms.  There's  no  one  else 
hanging  round?  " 

"  No  one,  as  I  told  you  the  other  day,  when  you 
questioned  me  about  her." 

Norman  shifted,  looked  embarrassed. 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  give  you  the  impression  I  was 
ashamed  of  loving  her  or  would  ever  be  ashamed  of 
her  anywhere?  "  continued  Tetlow,  a  very  loverlike  light 
in  his  usually  unromantic  eyes.  "  If  I  did,  it  wasn't 
what  I  meant — far  from  it.  You'll  see,  when  I  marry 
her,  Norman.  You'll  be  congratulating  me." 

Norman  sprang  up  again.  "  This  is  plain  lunacy, 
Tetlow.  I  am  amazed  at  you — amazed !  " 

"  Get  acquainted  with  her,  Mr.  Norman,"  pleaded 
the  subordinate.  "  Do  it,  to  oblige  me.  Don't  con 
demn  us " 

103 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  wish  to  hear  nothing  more !  "  cried  Norman  vio 
lently.  "  Another  thing.  You  must  find  her  a  place 
in  some  other  office — at  once." 

"  You're  right,  sir,"  assented  Tetlow.  "  I  can  read 
ily  do  that." 

Norman  scowled  at  him,  made  an  imperious  gesture 
of  dismissal.  Tetlow,  chopfallen  but  obdurate,  got  him 
self  speedily  out  of  sight. 

Norman,  with  hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  stared  out 
among  the  skyscrapers  and  gave  way  to  a  fit  of  remorse. 
It  was  foreign  to  his  nature  to  do  petty  underhanded 
tricks.  Grand  strategy — yes.  At  that  he  was  an  adept, 
and  not  the  shiftiest,  craftiest  schemes  he  had  ever  de 
vised  had  given  him  a  moment's  uneasiness.  But  to  be 
driving  a  ten-dollar-a-week  typewriter  out  of  her  job 
—to  be  maneuvering  to  deprive  her  of  a  for  her  brilliant 
marriage — to  be  lying  to  an  old  and  loyal  retainer  who 
had  helped  Norman  full  as  much  and  as  often  as  Norman 
had  helped  him — these  sneaking  bits  of  skullduggery 
made  him  feel  that  he  had  sunk  indeed.  But  he  ground 
his  teeth  together  and  his  eyes  gleamed  wickedly.  "  He 
shan't  have  her,  damn  him !  "  he  muttered.  "  She's  not 
for  him." 

He  summoned  Tetlow,  who  was  obviously  low  in 
mind  as  the  result  of  revolving  the  things  that  had  been 
said  to  him.  "  Billy,"  he  began  in  a  tone  so  amiable 
that  he  was  ashamed  for  himself,  "  you'll  not  forget  I 
have  your  promise  ?  " 

104 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  What  did  I  promise  ?  "  cried  Tetlow,  his  voice 
shrill  with  alarm. 

"  Not  to  see  her,  except  at  the  office,  for  a  week." 

"  But  I've  promised  her  father  I'd  call  this  even 
ing.  He's  going  to  show  me  some  experiments." 

"  You  can  easily  make  an  excuse — business." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to,"  protested  the  head  clerk. 
"What's  the  use?  I've  got  my  mind  made  up.  Nor 
man,  I'd  hang  on  after  her  if  you  fired  me  out  of  this 
office  for  it.  And  I  can't  rest — I'm  fit  for  nothing — 
until  this  matter's  settled.  I  came  very  near  taking 
her  aside  and  proposing  to  her,  just  after  I  went  out 
of  here  a  while  ago." 

"  You  damn  fool !  "  cried  Norman,  losing  all  control 
of  himself.  "  Take  the  afternoon  express  for  Albany 
instead  of  Harcott  and  attend  to  those  registrations 
and  arrange  for  those  hearings.  I'll  do  my  best  to 
save  you.  I'll  bring  the  girl  in  here  and  keep  her  at 
work  until  you  get  out  of  the  way." 

Tetlow  glanced  at  his  friend;  then  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  "You're  a  hell  of  a  friend!"  he  ejacu 
lated.  "  And  I  thought  you'd  sympathize  because  you 
were  in  love." 

"  I  do  sympathize,  Billy,"  Norman  replied  with  an 
abrupt  change  to  shamefaced  apology.  "  I  sympathize 
more  than  you  know.  I  feel  like  a  dog,  doing  this. 
But  it  can't  result  in  any  harm,  and  I  want  you  to  get 
a  little  fresh  air  in  that  hot  brain  of  yours  before  you 

105 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


commit  yourself.  Be  reasonable,  old  man.  Suppose 
you  rushed  ahead  and  proposed — and  she  accepted — and 
then,  after  a  few  days,  you  came  to.  What  about  her? 
You  must  act  on  the  level,  Tetlow.  Do  the  fair  thing 
by  yourself  and  by  her." 

Norman  had  often  had  occasion  to  feel  proud  of  the 
ingenuity  and  resourcefulness  of  his  brain.  He  had 
never  been  quite  so  proud  as  he  was  when  he  finished 
that  speech.  It  pacified  Tetlow ;  it  lightened  his  own 
sense  of  guilt ;  it  gave  him  a  respite. 

Tetlow  rewarded  Norman  with  the  look  that  in  New 
York  is  the  equivalent  of  the  handclasp  friend  seeks 
from  friend  in  times  of  stress.  "  You're  right,  Fred. 
I'm  much  obliged  to  you.  I  haven't  been  considering 
Tier  side  of  it  enough.  A  man  ought  always  to  think 
of  that.  The  women — poor  things — have  a  hard  enough 
time  to  get  on,  at  best." 

Norman's  smile  was  characteristically  cynical.  Sen 
timentality  amused  him.  "  I  doubt  if  there  are  more 
female  wrecks  than  male  wrecks  scattered  about  the 
earth,"  rejoined  he.  "  And  I  suspect  the  fact  isn't 
due  to  the  gentleness  of  man  with  woman,  either.  Don't 
fret  for  the  ladies,  Tetlow.  They  know  how  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  They  know  how  to  milk  with  a  sure 
and  a  steady  hand.  You  may  find  it  out  by  depressing 
experience  some  day." 

Tetlow  saw  the  aim.  His  obstinate,  wretched  ex 
pression  came  back.  "  I  don't  care.  I've  got ' 

106 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You  went  over  that  ground,"  interrupted  Norman 
impatiently.  "  You'd  better  be  catching  the  train." 

As  Tetlow  withdrew,  he  rang  for  an  office  boy  and 
sent  him  to  summon  Miss  Hallowell. 

Norman  had  been  reasoning  with  himself — with  the 
aid  of  the  self  that  was  both  better  and  more  worldly 
wise.  He  felt  that  his  wrestlings  had  not  been  wholly 
futile.  He  believed  he  had  got  the  strength  to  face  the 
girl  with  a  respectful  mind,  with  a  mind  resolute  in 
duty — if  not  love — toward  Josephine  Burroughs.  "  I 
love  Josephine,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  My  feeling  for 
this  girl  is  some  sort  of  physical  attraction.  I  certainly 
shall  be  able  to  control  it  enough  to  keep  it  within 
myself.  And  soon  it  will  die  out.  No  doubt  I've  felt 
much  the  same  thing  as  strongly  before.  But  it  didn't 
take  hold  because  I  was  never  bound  before — never  had 
the  sense  of  the  necessity  for  restraint.  That  sense  is 
always  highly  dangerous  for  my  sort  of  man." 

This  sounded  well.  He  eyed  the  entering  girl  coldly, 
said  in  a  voice  that  struck  him  as  excellent  indifference, 
"  Bring  your  machine  in  here,  Miss  Hallowell,  and  re- 
copy  these  papers.  I've  made  some  changes.  If  you 
spoil  any  sheets,  don't  throw  them  away,  but  return 
everything  to  me." 

"  I'm  always  careful  about  the  waste-paper  baskets," 
said  she,  "  since  they  warned  me  that  there  are  men 
who  make  a  living  searching  the  waste  thrown  out  of 
offices." 

107 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  made  no  reply.  He  could  not  have  spoken  if 
he  had  tried.  Once  more  the  spell  had  seized  him — the 
spell  of  her  weird  fascination  for  him.  As  she  sat  type 
writing,  with  her  back  almost  toward  him,  he  sat  watch 
ing  her  and  analyzing  his  own  folly.  He  knew  that 
diagnosing  a  disease  does  not  cure  it ;  but  he  found  an 
acute  pleasure  in  lingering  upon  all  the  details  of  the 
effect  she  had  upon  his  nerves.  He  did  not  dare  move 
from  his  desk,  from  the  position  that  put  a  huge  table 
and  a  revolving  case  of  reference  books  between  them. 
He  believed  that  if  he  went  nearer  he  would  be  unable 
to  resist  seizing  her  in  his  arms  and  pouring  out  the 
passion  that  was  playing  along  his  nerves  as  the  delicate, 
intense  flame  flits  back  and  forth  along  the  surface  of 
burning  alcohol. 

A  knock  at  the  door.  He  plunged  into  his  papers. 
"Come!"  he  called. 

Tetlow  thrust  in  his  head.  Miss  Hallowell  did  not 
look  up.  "  I'm  off,"  the  head  clerk  said.  His  gaze 
was  upon  the  unconscious  girl — a  gaze  that  filled  Nor 
man  with  longing  to  strangle  him. 

"  Telegraph  me  from  Albany  as  soon  as  you  get 
there,"  said  Norman.  "  Telegraph  me  at  my  club." 

Tetlow  was  gone.  The  machine  tapped  monoto 
nously  on.  The  barette  which  held  the  girl's  hair  at 
the  back  was  so  high  that  the  full  beauty  of  the  nape 
of  her  neck  was  revealed.  That  wonderful  white  skin 
with  the  golden  tint!  How  soft — yet  how  firm — her 

108 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


flesh  looked!      How   slender   yet   how   strong   was   her 
build— 

"  How  do  you  like  Tetlow  ? "  he  asked,  because 
speak  to  her  he  must. 

She  glanced  up,  turned  in  her  chair.  He  quivered 
before  the  gaze  from  those  enchanting  eyes  of  hers.  "  I 
beg  pardon,"  she  said.  "  I  didn't  hear." 

"  Tetlow — how  do  you  like  him?  " 

"  He  is  very  kind  to  me — to  everyone." 

"  How  did  your  father  like  him?  " 

He  confidently  expected  some  sign  of  confusion,  but 
there  was  no  sign.  "  Father  was  delighted  with  him," 
she  said  merrily.  "  He  took  an  interest  in  the  work 
father's  doing — and  that  was  enough." 

She  was  about  to  turn  back  to  her  task.  He  has 
tened  to  ask  another  question.  "  Couldn't  I  meet  your 
father  some  time?  What  Tetlow  told  me  interested 
me  greatly." 

"  Father  would  be  awfully  pleased,"  replied  she. 
"  But — unless  you  really  care  about — biology,  I  don't 
think  you'd  like  coming." 

"  I'm  interested  in  everything  interesting,"  replied 
Norman  dizzily.  What  was  he  saying?  What  was  he 
doing?  What  folly  was  his  madness  plunging  him  into? 

"  You  can  come  with  Mr.  Tetlow  when  he  gets  back." 

"  I'd  prefer  to  talk  with  him  alone,"  said  Norman. 
"  Perhaps  I  might  see  some  way  to  be  of  service  to 
him." 

109 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Her  expression  was  vividly  different  from  what  it 
had  been  when  he  offered  to  help  her.  She  became  radi 
ant  with  happiness.  "  I  do  hope  you'll  come,"  she  said 
— her  voice  very  low  and  sweet,  in  the  effort  she  was- 
making  to  restrain  yet  express  her  feelings. 

"  When?     This  evening?  " 

"  He's  always  at  home." 

"You'll  be  there?" 

"  I'm  always  there,  too.  We  have  no  friends.  It's 
not  easy  to  make  acquaintances  in  the  East — congenial 
acquaintances." 

"  I'd  want  you  to  be  there,"  he  explained  with  great 
care,  "  because  you  could  help  him  and  me  in  getting 
acquainted." 

"  Oh,  he'll  talk  freely— to  anyone.  He  talks  only 
the  one  subject.  He  never  thinks  of  anything  else." 

She  was  resting  her  crossed  arms  on  the  back  of  her 
chair  and,  with  her  chin  upon  them,  was  looking  at  him 
— a  childlike  pose  and  a  childlike  expression.  He  said: 
"  You  are  sure  you  are  twenty  ?  " 

She  smiled  gayly.      "  Nearly  twenty-one." 

"  Old  enough  to  be  in  love." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  laughed.  She  had  charm 
ing  white  teeth — small  and  sharp  and  with  enough  irreg 
ularity  to  carry  out  her  general  suggestion  of  variabil 
ity.  "  Yes,  I  shall  like  that,  when  it  comes,"  she  said. 
"  But  the  chances  are  against  it  just  now." 

"There's  Tetlow." 

110 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  was  much  amused.     "  Oh,  he's  far  too  old  and 

ous." 

Norman  felt  depressed.  "  Why,  he's  only  thirty- 
five." 

"  But  I'm  not  twenty-one,"  she  reminded  him.  "  I'd 
want  some  one  of  my  own  age.  I'm  tired  of  being  so 
solemn.  If  I  had  love,  I'd  expect  it  to  change  all  that." 

Evidently  a  forlorn  and  foolish  person — and  doubt 
less  thinking  of  him,  two  years  the  senior  of  Tetlow 
and  far  more  serious,  as  an  elderly  person,  in  the  same 
class  with  her  father.  "  But  you  like  biology  ?  "  he  said. 
The  way  to  a  cure  was  to  make  her  talk  on. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  said  she,  looking 
as  frivolous  as  a  butterfly  or  a  breeze-bobbed  blossom. 
"  I  listen  to  father,  but  it's  all  beyond  me." 

Yes — a  light-weight.  They  could  have  nothing  in 
common.  She  was  a  mere  surface — a  thrillingly  beauti 
ful  surface,  but  not  a  full-fledged  woman.  So  little  did 
conversation  with  him  interest  her,  she  had  taken  ad 
vantage  of  the  short  pause  to  resume  her  work.  No, 
she  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in  him.  It  wasn't  a 
trick  of  coquetry  ;  it  was  genuine.  He  whom  women  had 
always  bowed  before  was  unable  to  arouse  in  her  a  spark 
of  interest.  She  cared  neither  for  what  he  had  nor 
for  what  he  was,  in  himself.  This  offended  and  wounded 
him.  He  struggled  sulkily  with  his  papers  for  half  an 
hour.  Then  he  fell  to  watching  her  again  and 

"  You  must  not  neglect  to  give  me  your  address," 
111 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


he  said.     "  Write  it  on  a  slip  of  paper  after  you  finish. 
I  might  forget  it." 

"  Very  well,"  she  replied,  but  did  not  turn  round. 

"  Why,  do  you  think,  did  Tetlow  come  to  see  you  ?  " 
he  asked.  He  felt  cheapened  in  his  own  eyes — he,  the 
great  man,  the  arrived  man,  the  fiance  of  Josephine 
Burroughs,  engaged  in  this  halting  and  sneaking  flirta 
tion  !  But  he  could  not  restrain  himself. 

She  turned  to  answer.  "  Mr.  Tetlow  works  very 
hard  and  has  few  friends.  He  had  heard  of  my  father 
and  wanted  to  meet  him — just  like  you." 

"  Naturally,"  murmured  Norman,  in  confusion.  "  I 
thought — perhaps — he  was  interested  in  you" 

She  laughed  outright — and  he  had  an  entrancing 
view  of  the  clean  rosy  interior  of  her  mouth.  "  In  me? 
— Mr.  Tetlow?  Why,  he's  too  serious  and  important 
for  a  girl  like  me." 

"  Then  he  bored  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  like  him.  He  is  a  good  man — thor 
oughly  good." 

This  pleased  Norman  immensely.  It  may  be  fine  to 
be  good,  but  to  be  called  good — that  is  somehow  a  dif 
ferent  matter.  It  removes  a  man  at  once  from  the  jeal 
ousy-provoking  class.  "  Good  exactly  describes  him," 
said  Norman.  "  He  wouldn't  harm  a  fly.  In  love  he'd 
be  ridiculous." 

"  Not  with  a  woman  of  his  own  age  and  kind,'* 
protested  she.  "  But  I'm  neglecting  my  work." 

112 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


And  she  returned  to  it  with  a  resolute  manner  that 
made  him  ashamed  to  interrupt  again — especially  after 
the  unconscious  savage  rebukes  she  had  administered. 
He  sat  there  fighting  against  the  impulse  to  watch  her 
— denouncing  himself — appealing  to  pride,  to  shame,  to 
prudence — to  his  love  for  Josephine — to  the  sense  of 
decency  that  restrains  a  hunter  from  aiming  at  a  harm 
less  tame  song  bird.  But  all  in  vain.  He  concentrated 
upon  her  at  last,  stared  miserably  at  her,  filled  with 
longing  and  dread  and  shame — and  longing,  and  yet 
more  longing. 

When  she  finished  and  stood  at  the  other  side  of 
the  desk,  waiting  for  him  to  pass  upon  her  work,  she 
must  have  thought  he  was  in  a  profound  abstraction. 
He  did  not  speak,  made  a  slight  motion  with  his  hand 
to  indicate  that  she  was  to  go.  Shut  in  alone,  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  arms.  "  What  madness ! "  he 
groaned.  "  If  I  loved  her,  there'd  be  some  excuse  for 
me.  But  I  don't.  I  couldn't.  Yet  I  seem  ready  to 
ruin  everything,  merely  to  gratify  a  selfish  whim — an 
insane  whim." 

On  top  of  the  papers  she  had  left  he  saw  a  separate 
slip.  He  drew  it  toward  him,  spread  it  out  before  him. 
Her  address.  An  unknown  street  in  Jersey  City ! 

"  I'll  not  go,"  he  said  aloud,  pushing  the  slip  away. 
Go?  Certainly  not.  He  had  never  really  meant  to  go. 
He  would,  of  course,  keep  his  engagement  with  Joseph 
ine.  "  And  I'll  not  come  down  town  until  she  has  taken 

113 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


another  job  and  has  caught  Tetlow.  I'll  stop  this  idiocy 
of  trying  to  make  an  impression  on  a  person  not  worth 
impressing.  What  weak  vanity — to  be  piqued  by  this 
girl's  lack  of  interest !  " 

Nevertheless — he  at  six  o'clock  telephoned  to  the 
Burroughs'  house  that  he  was  detained  down  town.  He 
sent  away  his  motor,  dined  alone  in  the  station  restau 
rant  in  Jersey  City.  And  at  half  past  seven  he  set  out 
in  a  cab  in  search  of — what?  He  did  not  dare  answer 
that  interrogation. 


VI 


LIKE  many  another  chance  explorer  from  New  York, 
Norman  was  surprised  to  discover  that,  within  a  few 
minutes  of  leaving  the  railway  station,  his  cab  was  mov 
ing  through  a  not  unattractive  city.  He  expected  to 
find  the  Hallowells  in  a  tenement  in  some  more  or  less 
squalid  street  overhung  with  railway  smoke  and  be 
daubed  with  railway  grime.  He  was  delighted  when  the 
driver  assured  him  that  there  was  no  mistake,  that  the 
comfortable  little  cottage  across  the  width  of  the  side 
walk  and  a  small  front  yard  was  the  sought-for  desti 
nation. 

"  Wait,  please,"  he  said  to  the  cabman.  "  Or,  if  you 
like,  you  can  go  to  that  corner  saloon  down  there.  I'll 
know  where  to  find  you."  And  he  gave  him  half  a 
dollar. 

The  cabman  hesitated  between  two  theories  of  this 
conduct — whether  it  was  the  generosity  it  seemed  or 
was  a  ruse  to  "  side  step  "  payment.  He — or  his  thirst 
— decided  for  the  decency  of  human  nature ;  he  drove 
confidingly  away.  Norman  went  up  the  tiny  stoop  and 
rang.  The  sound  of  a  piano,  in  the  room  on  the  ground 
floor  where  there  was  light,  abruptly  ceased.  The  door 

115 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


opened  and  Miss  Hallowell  stood  before  him.  She  was 
throughout  a  different  person  from  the  girl  of  the  office. 
She  had  changed  to  a  tight-fitting  pale-blue  linen  dress 
made  all  in  one  piece.  Norman  could  now  have  not  an 
instant's  doubt  about  the  genuineness,  the  bewitching 
actuality,  of  her  beauty.  The  wonder  was  how  she 
could  contrive  to  conceal  so  much  of  it  for  the  purposes 
of  business.  It  was  a  peculiar  kind  of  beauty — not  the 
radiant  kind,  but  that  which  shines  with  a  soft  glow 
and  gives  him  who  sees  it  the  delightful  sense  of  being 
its  original  and  sole  discoverer.  An  artistic  eye — or  an 
eye  that  discriminates  in  and  responds  to  feminine  love 
liness — would  have  been  captivated,  as  it  searched  in 
vain  for  flaw. 

If  Norman  anticipated  that  she  would  be  nervous 
before  the  task  of  receiving  in  her  humbleness  so  dis 
tinguished  a  visitor,  he  must  have  been  straightway 
disappointed.  Whether  from  a  natural  lack  of  that 
sense  of  social  differences  which  is  developed  to  the  most 
pitiful  snobbishness  in  New  York  or  from  her  youth  and 
inexperience,  she  received  him  as  if  he  had  been  one  of 
the  neighbors  dropping  in  after  supper.  And  it  was 
Norman  who  was  ill  at  ease.  Nothing  is  more  discon 
certing  to  a  man  accustomed  to  be  received  with 
due  respect  to  his  importance  than  to  find  himself  put 
upon  the  common  human  level  and  compelled  to  "  make 
good  "  all  over  again  from  the  beginning.  He  felt — 
he  knew — that  he  was  an  humble  candidate  for  her 

116 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


favor — a  candidate  with  the  chances  perhaps  against 
him. 

The  tiny  parlor  had  little  in  it  beside  the  upright 
piano  because  there  was  no  space.  But  the  paper,  the 
carpet  and  curtains,  the  few  pieces  of  furniture,  showed 
no  evidence  of  bad  taste,  of  painful  failure  at  the  effort 
to  "  make  a  front."  He  was  in  the  home  of  poor  people, 
but  they  were  obviously  people  who  made  a  highly  satis 
factory  best  of  their  poverty.  And  in  the  midst  of  it 
all  the  girl  shone  like  the  one  evening  star  in  the  mystic 
opalescence  of  twilight. 

"  We  weren't  sure  you  were  coming,"  said  she.  "  I'll 
call  father.  .  .  .  No,  I'll  take  you  back  to  his  workshop. 
He's  easier  to  get  acquainted  with  there." 

"  Won't  you  play  something  for  me  first  ?  Or — 
perhaps  you  sing?  " 

"  A  very  little,"  she  admitted.  "  Not  worth  hear 
ing." 

"  I'm  sure  I'd  like  it.  I  want  to  get  used  to  my 
surroundings  before  I  tackle  the — the  biology." 

Without  either  hesitation  or  shyness,  she  seated  her 
self  at  the  piano.  "  I'll  sing  the  song  I've  just  learned." 
And  she  began.  Norman  moved  to  the  chair  that  gave 
him  a  view  of  her  in  profile.  For  the  next  five  minutes 
he  was  witness  to  one  of  those  rare,  altogether  charm 
ing  visions  that  linger  in  the  memory  in  freshness  and 
fragrance  until  memory  itself  fades  away.  She  sat 
very  straight  at  the  piano,  and  the  position  brought 

117 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


out  all  the  long  lines  of  her  figure — the  long,  round 
white  neck  and  throat,  the  long  back  and  bosom,  the 
long  arms  and  legs — a  series  of  lovely  curves.  It  has 
been  scientifically  demonstrated  that  pale  blue  is  pre 
eminently  the  sex  color.  It  certainly  was  preeminently 
her  color,  setting  off  each  and  every  one  of  her  charms 
and  suggesting  the  roundness  and  softness  and  white 
ness  her  drapery  concealed.  She  was  one  of  those  rare 
beings  whose  every  pose  is  instinct  with  grace.  And 
her  voice —  It  was  small,  rather  high,  at  times  almost 
shrill.  But  in  every  note  of  its  register  there  sounded 
a  mysterious,  melancholy-sweet  call  to  the  responding 
nerves  of  man. 

Before  she  got  halfway  through  the  song  Norman 
was  fighting  against  the  same  mad  impulse  that  had  all 
but  overwhelmed  him  as  he  watched  her  in  the  after 
noon.  And  when  her  last  note  rose,  swelled,  slowly 
faded  into  silence,  it  seemed  to  him  that  had  she  kept 
on  for  one  note  more  he  would  have  disclosed  to  her 
amazed  eyes  the  insanity  raging  within  him. 

She  turned  on  the  piano  stool,  her  hands  dropped 
listlessly  in  her  lap.  "Aren't  those  words  beautiful?" 
she  said  in  a  dreamy  voice.  She  was  not  looking  at 
him.  Evidently  she  was  hardly  aware  of  his  presence. 

He  had  not  heard  a  word.  He  was  in  no  mood  for 
mere  words.  "  I've  never  liked  anything  so  well,"  he 
said.  And  he  lowered  his  eyes  that  she  might  not  see 
what  they  must  be  revealing. 

118 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  rose.  He  made  a  gesture  of  protest.  "  Won't 
you  sing  another?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  after  that,"  she  said.  "  It's  the  best  I  know. 
It  has  put  me  out  of  the  mood  for  the  ordinary  songs." 

"  You  are  a  dreamer — aren't  you  ?  " 

"  That's  my  real  life,"  replied  she.  "  I  go  through 
the  other  part  just  to  get  to  the  dreams." 

"  What  do  you  dream  ?  " 

She  laughed  carelessly.  "  Oh,  you'd  not  be  inter 
ested.  It  would  seem  foolish  to  you." 

"  You're  mistaken  there,"  cried  he.  "  The  only- 
thing  that  ever  has  interested  me  in  life  is  dreams — • 
and  making  them  come  true." 

"  But  not  my  kind  of  dreams.  The  only  kind  I  like 
are  the  ones  that  couldn't  possibly  come  true." 

"  There  isn't  any  dream  that  can't  be  made  to  come 
true." 

She  looked  at  him  eagerly.     "  You  think  so?  " 

"  The  wildest  ones  are  often  the  easiest."  He  had 
a  moving  voice  himself,  and  it  had  been  known  to  affect 
listening  ears  hypnotically  when  he  was  deeply  in  ear 
nest,  was  possessed  by  one  of  those  desires  that  conquer 
men  of  will  and  then  make  them  irresistible  instruments. 
"  What  is  your  dream? — happiness?  .  .  .  love?  " 

She  gazed  past  him  with  swimming  eyes,  with  a 
glance  that  seemed  like  a  brave  bright  bird  exploring 
infinity.  "  Yes,"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "  But  it 
could  never — never  come  true.  It's  too  perfect." 

119 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Don't  doubt,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  fitted  her 
mood  as  the  rhythm  of  the  cradle  fits  the  gentle  breath 
ing  of  the  sleeping  child.  "  Don't  ever  doubt.  And  the 
dream  will  come  true." 

"  You  have  been  in  love?  "  she  said,  under  the  spell 
of  his  look  and  tone. 

He  nodded  slowly.  "  I  am,"  he  replied,  and  he  was 
under  the  spell  of  her  beauty. 

"Is  it— wonderful?  " 

"  Like  nothing  else  on  earth.  Everything  else  seems 
— poor  and  cheap — beside  it." 

He  drew  a  step  nearer.  "  But  you  couldn't  love — 
not  yet,"  he  said.  "  You  haven't  had  the  experience. 
You  will  have  to  learn." 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  she  cried.  "  I  have  been 
teaching  myself  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl.  I've 
thought  of  nothing  else  most  of  the  time.  Oh — "  she 
clasped  her  white  hands  against  her  small  bosom — "  if 
I  ever  have  the  chance,  how  much  I  shall  give ! " 

"I  know  it!  I  know  it!"  he  replied.  "You  will 
make  some  man  happier  than  ever  man  was  before." 
His  infatuation  did  not  blind  him  to  the  fact  that  she 
cared  nothing  about  him,  looked  on  him  in  the  most 
unpersonal  way.  But  that  knowledge  seemed  only  to 
inflame  him  the  more,  to  lash  him  on  to  the  folly  of  an 
ill-timed  declaration.  "  I  have  felt  how  much  you  will 
give — how  much  you  will  love — I've  felt  it  from  the 
second  time  I  saw  you — perhaps  from  the  first.  I've 

120 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


never  seen  any  woman  who  interested  me  as  you  do — 
who  drew  me  as  you  do — against  my  ambition — against 
my  will.  I— I " 

He  had  been  fighting  against  the  words  that  would 
come  in  spite  of  him.  He  halted  now  because  the  flood 
of  emotion  suffocated  speech.  He  stood  before  her, 
ghastly  pale  and  trembling.  She  did  not  draw  back. 
She  seemed  compelled  by  his  will,  by  the  force  of  his 
passion,  to  stay  where  she  was.  But  in  her  eyes  was  a 
fascinated  terror — a  fear  of  him — of  the  passion  that 
dominated  him,  a  passion  like  the  devils  that  made  men 
gash  themselves  and  leap  from  precipices  into  the  sea. 
To  unaccustomed  eyes  the  first  sight  of  passion  is  al 
ways  terrifying  and  is  usually  repellent.  One  must 
learn  to  adventure  the  big  wave,  the  great  hissing,  tow 
ering  billow  that  conceals  behind  its  menace  the  wild 
rapture  of  infinite  longing  realized. 

"  I  have  frightened  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  was  her  whispered  reply. 

"  But  it  is  your  dream  come  true." 

She  shrank  back — not  in  aversion,  but  gently.  "  No 
— it  isn't  my  dream,"  she  replied. 

"  You  don't  realize  it  yet,  but  you  will." 

She  shook  her  head  positively.  "  I  couldn't  ever 
think  of  you  in  that  way." 

He  did  not  need  to  ask  why.  She  had  already  ex 
plained  when  they  were  talking  of  Tetlow.  There  was 
a  finality  in  her  tone  that  filled  him  with  despair.  It 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


was  his  turn  to  look  at  her  in  terror.  What  power 
this  slim  delicate  girl  had  over  him!  What  a  price 
she  could  exact  if  she  but  knew !  Knew  ?  Why,  he  had 
told  her — was  telling  her  in  look  and  tone  and  gesture 
— was  giving  himself  frankly  into  captivity — was  pros 
trate,  inviting  her  to  trample.  His  only  hope  of  escape 
lay  in  her  inexperience — that  she  would  not  realize.  In 
the  insanities  of  passion,  as  in  some  other  forms  of 
dementia,  there  is  always  left  a  streak  of  reason — of 
that  craft  which  leads  us  to  try  to  get  what  we  want 
as  cheaply  as  possible.  Men,  all  but  beside  themselves 
with  love,  will  bargain  over  the  terms,  if  they  be  of  the 
bargaining  kind  by  nature.  Norman  was  not  a  haggler. 
But  common  prudence  was  telling  him  how  unwise  his 
conduct  was,  how  he  was  inviting  the  defeat  of  his  own 
purposes. 

He  waved  his  hand  impatiently.  "  We'll  see,  my 
dear,"  he  said  with  a  light  good-humored  laugh.  "  I 
mustn't  forget  that  I  came  to  see  your  father." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  She  did  not  under 
stand — did  not  quite  like — this  abrupt  change  of  mood. 
It  suggested  to  her  simplicity  a  lack  of  seriousness,  of 
sincerity.  "  Do  you  really  wish  to  see  my  father?  " 
she  inquired. 

"  Why  else  should  I  come  away  over  to  Jersey 
City?  Couldn't  I  have  talked  with  you  at  the  office?  " 

This  seemed  convincing.  She  continued  to  study  his 
face  for  light  upon  the  real  character  of  this  strange 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


new  sort  of  man.  He  regarded  her  with  a  friendly 
humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  Then  I'll  take  you  to 
him,"  she  said  at  length.  She  was  by  no  means  satisfied, 
but  she  could  not  discover  why  she  was  dissatisfied. 

"  I  can't  possibly  do  you  any  harm,"  he  urged,  with 
raillery. 

"No,  I  think  not,"  replied  she  gravely.  "But 
you  mustn't  say  those  things !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Into  his  eyes  came  their  strongest, 
most  penetrating  look.  "  I  want  you.  And  I  don't 
intend  to  give  you  up.  It  isn't  my  habit  to  give  up. 
So,  sooner  or  later  I  get  what  I  go  after." 

"  You  make  me — afraid,"  she  said  nervously. 

"Of  what?"  laughed  he.  "Not  of  me,  certainly. 
Then  it  must  be  of  yourself.  You  are  afraid  you  will 
end  by  wanting  me  to  want  you." 

"  No — not  that,"  declared  she,  confused  by  his  quick 
cleverness  of  speech.  "  I  don't  know  what  I'm  afraid 
of." 

"  Then  let's  go  to  your  father.  .  .  .  You'll  not  tell 
Tetlow  what  I've  said?  " 

"  No."  And  once  more  her  simple  negation  gave 
him  a  sense  of  her  absolute  truthfulness. 

"  Or  that  I've  been  here?  " 

She  looked  astonished.     "  Why  not?  " 

"  Oh — office  reasons.  It  wouldn't  do  for  the  others 
to  know." 

She  reflected  on  this.  "  I  don't  understand,"  was 
5  123 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  result  of  her  thinking.  "  But  I'll  do  as  you  ask. 
Only,  you  must  not  come  again." 

"  Why  not?  If  they  knew  at  the  office,  they'd 
simply  talk — unpleasantly." 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted  hesitatingly  after  reflecting. 
"  So  you  mustn't  come  again.  I  don't  like  some  kinds 
of  secrets." 

"  But  your  father  will  know,"  he  urged.  "  Isn't 
that  enough  for — for  propriety?" 

"  I  can't  explain.  I  don't  understand,  myself.  I 
do  a  lot  of  things  by  instinct."  She,  standing  with  her 
hands  behind  her  back  and  with  clear,  childlike  eyes 
gravely  upon  him,  looked  puzzled  but  resolved.  "  And 
my  instinct  tells  me  not  to  do  anything  secret  about 
you." 

This  answer  made  him  wonder  whether  after  all  he 
might  not  be  too  positive  in  his  derisive  disbelief  in  wom 
en's  instincts.  He  laughed.  "  Well — now  for  your 
father." 

The  workshop  proved  to  be  an  annex  to  the  rear, 
reached  by  a  passage  leading  past  a  cosy  little  dining 
room  and  a  kitchen  where  the  order  and  the  shine  of 
cleanness  were  notable  even  to  masculine  eyes.  "  You 
are  well  taken  care  of,"  he  said  to  her — she  was  preced 
ing  him  to  show  the  way. 

"  We  take  care  of  ourselves,"  replied  she.  "  I  get 
breakfast  before  I  leave  and  supper  after  I  come  home. 
Father  has  a  cold  lunch  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  when 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


he  eats  at  all — which  isn't  often.  And  on  Saturday 
afternoons  and  Sundays  I  do  the  heavy  work." 

"  You  are  a  busy  lady !  " 

"  Oh,  not  so  very  busy.  Father  is  a  crank  about 
system  and  order.  He  has  taught  me  to  plan  every 
thing  and  work  by  the  plans." 

For  the  first  time  Norman  had  a  glimmer  of  real 
interest  in  meeting  her  father.  For  in  those  remarks 
of  hers  he  recognized  at  once  the  rare  superior  man — 
the  man  who  works  by  plan,  where  the  masses  of  man 
kind  either  drift  helplessly  or  are  propelled  by  some 
superior  force  behind  them  without  which  they  would 
be,  not  the  civilized  beings  they  seem,  but  even  as  the 
savage  in  the  dugout  or  as  the  beast  of  the  field.  The 
girl  opened  a  door;  a  bright  light  streamed  into  the 
dim  hallway. 

"  Father !  "  she  called.     "  Here's  Mr.  Norman." 

Norman  saw,  beyond  the  exquisite  profile  of  tht* 
girl's  head  and  figure,  a  lean  tallish  old  man,  dark  and 
gray,  whose  expression  proclaimed  him  at  first  glance 
no  more  in  touch  with  the  affairs  of  active  life  in  the 
world  than  had  he  been  an  inhabitant  of  Mars. 

Mr.  Hallowell  gave  his  caller  a  polite  glance  and 
handshake — evidence  of  merest  surface  interest  in  him, 
of  amiable  patience  with  an  intruder.  Norman  saw  in 
the  neatness  of  his  clothing  and  linen  further  proof 
of  the  girl's  loving  care.  For  no  such  abstracted 
personality  as  this  would  ever  bother  about  such  things 

125 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


for  himself.  These  details,  however,  detained  Norman 
only  for  a  moment.  In  the  presence  of  Hallowell  it 
was  impossible  not  to  concentrate  upon  him. 

As  we  grow  older  what  we  are  inside,  the  kind  of 
thoughts  we  admit  as  our  intimates,  appears  ever  more 
strongly  in  the  countenance.  This  had  often  struck 
Norman,  observing  the  men  of  importance  about  him, 
noting  how  as  they  aged  the  look  of  respectability,  of 
intellectual  distinction,  became  a  thinner  and  ever  thinner 
veneer  over  the  selfishness  and  greediness,  the  vanity  and 
sensuality  and  falsehood.  But  never  before  had  he  been 
so  deeply  impressed  by  its  truth.  Evidently  Hallowell 
during  most  of  his  fifty-five  or  sixty  years  had  lived 
the  purely  intellectual  life.  The  result  was  a  look  of 
spiritual  beauty,  the  look  of  the  soul  living  in  the  high 
mountain,  with  serenity  and  vast  views  constantly  be 
fore  it.  Such  a  face  fills  with  awe  the  ordinary  follower 
of  the  petty  life  of  the  world  if  he  have  the  brains  to 
know  or  to  suspect  the  ultimate  truth  about  existence. 
It  filled  Norman  with  awe.  He  hastily  turned  his  eyes 
upon  the  girl — and  once  more  into  his  face  came  the 
resolute,  intense,  white-hot  expression  of  a  man  dog 
gedly  set  upon  an  earthy  purpose. 

There  was  an  embarrassed  silence.  Then  the  girl 
said,  "  Show  him  the  worms,  father." 

Mr.  Hallowell  smiled.  "  My  little  girl  thinks  no  one 
has  seen  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  he.  "  I  can't  make 
her  believe  it  is  one  of  the  commonplaces." 

126 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You've  never  had  anyone  here  more  ignorant  than 
I,  sir,"  said  Norman.  "  The  only  claim  on  your  courtesy 
I  can  make  is  that  I'm  interested  and  that  I  perhaps 
know  enough  in  a  general  way  to  appreciate." 

Hallowell  waved  his  hand  toward  a  row  of  large 
glass  bottles  on  one  of  the  many  shelves  built  against 
the  rough  walls  of  the  room.  "  Here  they  are,"  said 
he.  "  It's  the  familiar  illustration  of  how  life  may  be 
controlled." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Norman,  eying  the 
bottled  worms  curiously. 

"  Oh,  it's  simply  the  demonstration  that  life  is  a 
mere  chemical  process " 

Norman  had  ceased  to  listen.  The  girl  was  moving 
toward  the  door  by  which  they  had  entered — was  in  the 
doorway — was  gone!  He  stood  in  an  attitude  of  at 
tention;  Hallowell  talked  on  and  on,  passing  from  one 
thing  to  another,  forgetting  his  caller  and  himself, 
thinking  only  of  the  subject,  the  beloved  science,  that 
has  brought  into  the  modern  world  a  type  of  men  like 
those  who  haunted  the  deserts  and  mountain  caves  in 
the  days  when  Rome  was  falling  to  pieces.  With  those 
saintly  hermits  of  the  Dark  Ages  religion  was  the  all- 
absorbing  subject.  And  seeking  their  own  salvation 
was  the  goal  upon  which  their  ardent  eyes  were  neces 
sarily  bent.  With  these  modern  devotees,  science — the 
search  for  the  truth  about  the  world  in  which  they  live 
— is  their  religion ;  and  their  goal  is  the  redemption  of 

187 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  world.  They  are  resolved — step  by  step,  each 
worker  contributing  his  mite  of  discovery — to  transform 
the  world  from  a  hell  of  discomfort  and  pain  and  death 
to  a  heaven  where  men  and  women,  free  and  enlight 
ened  and  perhaps  immortal,  shall  live  in  happiness. 
They  even  dream  that  perhaps  this  race  of  gods  shall 
learn  to  construct  the  means  to  take  them  to  another 
and  younger  planet,  when  this  Earth  has  become  too 
old  and  too  cold  and  too  nakedly  clad  in  atmosphere 
properly  to  sustain  life. 

From  time  to  time  Norman  caught  a  few  words  of 
what  Hallowell  said — words  that  made  him  respect  the 
intelligence  that  had  uttered  them.  But  he  neither 
cared  nor  dared  to  listen.  He  refused  to  be  deflected 
from  his  one  purpose.  When  he  was  as  old  as  Hallo- 
well,  it  would  be  time  to  think  of  these  matters.  When 
he  had  snatched  the  things  he  needed,  it  would  be  time 
to  take  the  generous,  wide,  philosopher  view  of  life. 
But  not  yet.  He  was  still  young;  he  could — and  he 
would ! — drink  of  the  sparkling  heady  life  of  the  senses, 
typefied  now  for  him  in  this  girl.  How  her  loveliness 
flamed  in  his  blood — flamed  as  fiercely  when  he  could 
not  see  the  actual,  tangible  charms  as  when  they  were 
radiating  their  fire  into  his  eyes  and  through  his  skin ! 
First  he  must  live  that  glorious  life  of  youth,  of  nerves 
aquiver  with  ecstasy.  Also,  he  must  shut  out  the  things 
of  the  intellect — must  live  in  brain  as  well  as  in  body 
the  animal  life  —  in  brain  the  life  of  cunning  and 

128 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


strategy.  For  the  intellectual  life  would  make  it  im 
possible  to  pursue  such  ignoble  things.  First,  material 
success  and  material  happiness.  Then,  in  its  own  time, 
this  intellectual  life  to  which  such  men  as  Hallowell  ever 
beckon,  from  their  heights,  such  men  as  Norman,  deep 
in  the  wallow  that  seems  to  them  unworthy  of  them,  even 
as  they  roll  in  it. 

As  soon  as  there  came  a  convenient  pause  in  Hallo- 
well's  talk,  Norman  said,  "  And  you  devote  your  whole 
life  to  these  things?  " 

Hallowell's  countenance  lost  its  fine  glow  of  enthu 
siasm.  "  I  have  to  make  a  living.  I  do  chemical  analyses 
for  doctors  and  druggists.  That  takes  most  of  my 
time." 

"  But  you  can  dispatch  those  things  quickly." 

Hallowell  shook  his  head.  "  There's  only  one  way 
to  do  things.  My  clients  trust  me.  I  can't  shirk." 

Norman  smiled.  He  admired  this  simplicity.  But 
it  amused  him,  too ;  in  a  world  of  shirking  and  shuffling, 
not  to  speak  of  downright  dishonesty,  it  struck  the 
humorous  note  of  the  incongruous.  He  said: 

"  But  if  you  could  give  all  your  time  you  would 
get  on  faster." 

"  Yes — if  I  had  the  time — and  the  money.  To  make 
the  search  exhaustive  would  take  money — five  or  six 
thousand  a  year,  at  the  least.  A  great  deal  more  than 
I  shall  ever  have." 

"  Have  you  tried  to  interest  capitalists  ?  " 
129 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Hallowell  smiled  ironically.  "  There  is  much  talk 
about  capitalists  and  capital  opening  up  things.  But 
I  have  yet  to  learn  of  an  instance  of  their  touching 
anything  until  they  were  absolutely  sure  of  large  profits. 
Their  failed  enterprises  are  not  miscarriage  of  noble 
purpose  but  mistaken  judgment,  judgment  blinded  by 
hope  and  greed." 

"  I  see  that  a  philosopher  can  know  life  without 
living  it,"  said  Norman.  "  But  couldn't  you  put  your 
scheme  in  such  a  way  that  some  capitalist  would  be  led 
to  hope?" 

"  I'd  have  to  tell  them  the  truth.  Possibly  I  might 
discover  something  with  commercial  value,  but  I  couldn't 
promise.  I  don't  think  it  is  likely." 

Norman's  eyes  were  on  the  door.  His  thoughts 
were  reaching  out  to  the  distant  and  faint  sound  of  a 
piano.  "  Just  what  do  you  propose  to  search  for  ?  " 
inquired  he. 

He  tried  to  listen,  because  it  was  necessary  that  he 
have  some  knowledge  of  Hallowell's  plans.  But  he 
could  not  fix  his  attention.  After  a  few  moments  he 
glanced  at  his  watch,  interrupted  with,  "  I  think  I  un 
derstand  enough  for  the  present.  I've  stayed  longer 
than  I  intended.  I  must  go  now.  When  I  come  again 
I  may  perhaps  have  some  plan  to  propose." 

"  Plan  ?  "  exclaimed  Hallowell,  his  eyes  lighting  up. 

"  I'm  not  sure — not  at  all  sure,"  hastily  added  Nor 
man.  "  I  don't  wish  to  give  you  false  hopes.  The 

130 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


matter  is  extremely  difficult.  But  I'll  try.  I've  small 
hope  of  success,  but  I'll  try." 

"  My  daughter  didn't  explain  to  me,"  said  the  sci 
entist.  "  She  simply  said  one  of  the  gentlemen  for 
whom  she  worked  was  coming  to  look  at  my  place.  I 
thought  it  was  mere  curiosity." 

"  So  it  was,  Mr.  Hallowell,"  said  Norman.  "  But 
I  have  been  interested.  I  don't  as  yet  see  what  can  be 
done.  I'm  only  saying  that  I'll  think  it  over." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Hallowell.  He  was  trying 
to  seem  calm  and  indifferent.  But  his  voice  had  the 
tremulous  note  of  excitement  in  it  and  his  hands  fumbled 
nervously,  touching  evidence  of  the  agitated  gropings 
of  his  mind  in  the  faint,  perhaps  illusory,  light  of  a  new- 
sprung  hope.  "  Yes,  I  understand  perfectly.  Still — 
it  is  pleasant  to  think  about  such  a  thing,  even  if  there's 
no  chance  of  it.  I  am  very  fond  of  dreaming.  That 
has  been  my  life,  you  know." 

Norman  colored,  moved  uneasily.  The  fineness  of 
this  man's  character  made  him  uncomfortable.  He  could 
pity  Hallowell  as  a  misguided  failure.  He  could  dilate 
himself  as  prosperous,  successful,  much  the  more  im 
posing  and  important  figure  in  the  contrast.  Yet  there 
was  somehow  a  point  of  view  at  which,  if  one  looked 
carefully,  his  own  sort  of  man  shriveled  and  the  Hal 
lowell  sort  towered. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  Norman  said.  "  No — don't 
come  with  me.  I  know  the  way.  I've  interrupted  you 

181 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


long  enough."  And  he  put  out  his  hand  and,  by  those 
little  clevernesses  of  manner  which  he  understood  so 
well,  made  it  impossible  for  Hallowell  to  go  with  him 
to  Dorothy. 

He  was  glad  when  he  shut  the  door  between  him  and 
her  father.  He  paused  in  the  hall  to  dispel  the  vague, 
self-debasing  discomfort — and  listening  to  her  voice  as 
she  sang  helped  wonderfully.  There  is  no  more  trying 
test  of  a  personality  than  to  be  estimated  by  the  voice 
alone.  That  test  produces  many  strange  and  startling 
results.  Again  and  again  it  completely  reverses  our 
judgment  of  the  personality,  either  destroys  or  en 
hances  its  charm.  The  voice  of  this  girl,  floating  out 
upon  the  quiet  of  the  cottage — the  voice,  soft  and  sweet, 
full  of  the  virginal  passion  of  dreams  unmarred  by  ex 
perience —  It  was  while  listening  to  her  voice,  as  he 
stood  there  in  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  that  Frederick 
Norman  passed  under  the  spell  in  all  its  potency.  In 
taking  an  anaesthetic  there  is  the  stage  when  we  reach 
out  for  its  soothing  effects ;  then  comes  the  stage  when 
we  half  desire,  half  fear;  then  a  stage  in  which  fear  is 
dominant,  and  we  struggle  to  retain  our  control  of  the 
senses.  Last  comes  the  stage  when  we  feel  the  full 
power  of  the  drug  and  relax  and  yield  or  are  beaten 
down  into  quiet.  Her  voice  drew  him  into  the  final 
stage,  was  the  blow  of  the  overwhelming  wave's  crest 
that  crushed  him  into  submission. 

She   glanced   toward   the   door.      He   was   leaning 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


there,  an  ominous  calm  in  his  pale,  resolute  face.  She 
gazed  at  him  with  widening  eyes.  And  her  look  was 
the  look  of  helplessness  before  a  force  that  may,  indeed 
must,  be  struggled  against,  but  with  the  foregone  cer 
tainty  of  defeat. 

A  gleam  of  triumph  shone  in  his  eyes.  Then  his 
expression  changed  to  one  more  conventional.  "  I 
stopped  a  moment  to  listen,  on  my  way  out,"  said  he. 

Her  expression  changed  also.  The  instinctive,  prob 
ably  unconscious  response  to  his  look  faded  into  the 
sweet  smile,  serious  rather  than  merry,  that  was  her 
habitual  greeting.  "  Mr.  Tetlow  didn't  get  away  from 
father  so  soon." 

66 1  stayed  longer  than  I  intended.  I  found  it  even 
more  interesting  than  I  had  expected.  .  .  .  Would  you 
be  glad  if  your  father  could  be  free  to  do  as  he  likes 
and  not  be  worried  about  anything?  " 

"  That  is  one  of  my  dreajns." 

"  Well,  it's  certainly  one  that  might  come  true.  .  .  . 
And  you —  It's  a  shame  that  you  should  have  to  do  so 
much  drudgery — both  here  and  in  New  York." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  about  myself.  It's  all  I'm  fit 
for.  I  haven't  any  talent — except  for  dreaming." 

"  And  for  making — some  man's  dreams  come  true." 

Her  gaze  dropped.  And  as  she  hid  herself  she 
looked  once  more  almost  as  insignificant  and  colorless 
as  he  had  once  believed  her  to  be. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about?  " 
133 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


She  shook  her  head  slowly  without  raising  her  eyes 
or  emerging  from  the  deep  recess  of  her  reserve. 

"  You  are  a  mystery  to  me.  I  can't  decide  whether 
you  are  very  innocent  or  very — concealing." 

She  glanced  inquiringly  at  him.  "  I  don't  under 
stand,"  she  said. 

He  smiled.  "  No  more  do  I.  I've  seen  so  much  of 
faking — in  women  as  well  as  in  men — that  it's  hard  for 
me  to  believe  anyone  is  genuine." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  trying  to  deceive  you?  About 
what?" 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture — impatience  with  his 
credulity  where  she  was  concerned.  "  No  matter.  I 
want  to  make  you  happy — because  I  want  you  to  make 
me  happy." 

Her  eyes  became  as  grave  as  a  wondering  child's. 
66  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  she  said. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  " 

"  Because  I  could  not  make  you  happy." 

"Why  not?" 

"  What  could  a  serious  man  like  you  find  in  me  ?  " 

His  intense,  burning  gaze  held  hers.  "  Some  time 
I  wiU  tell  you." 

She  shut  herself  within  herself  like  a  flower  folding 
away  its  beauty  and  leaving  exposed  only  the  colorless 
underside  of  its  petals.  It  was  impossible  to  say  wheth 
er  she  understood  or  was  merely  obeying  an  instinct. 

He  watched  her  a  moment  in  silence.    Then  he  said: 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  am  mad  about  you — mad.  You  must  understand. 
I  can  think  only  of  you.  I  am  insane  with  jealousy 
of  you.  I  want  you — I  must  have  you." 

He  would  have  seized  her  in  his  arms,  but  the  look 
of  sheer  amazement  she  gave  him  protected  her  where 
no  protest  or  struggle  would.  "  You?  "  she  said.  "  Did 
you  really  mean  it?  I  thought  you  were  just  talking." 

"  Can't  you  see  that  I  mean  it?  " 

"  Yes — you  look  as  if  you  did.  But  I  can't  believe 
it.  I  could  never  think  of  you  in  that  way." 

Once  more  that  frank  statement  of  indifference  in 
furiated  him.  He  must  compel  her  to  feel — he  must 
give  that  indifference  the  lie — and  at  once !  He  caught 
her  in  his  arms.  He  rained  kisses  upon  her  pale  face. 
She  made  not  the  least  resistance,  but  seemed  dazed. 
"  I  will  teach  you  to  love  me,"  he  cried,  drunk  now  with 
the  wine  of  her  lips,  with  the  perfume  of  her  exquisite 
youth.  "  I  will  make  you  happy.  We  shall  be  mad 
with  happiness." 

She  gently  freed  herself.  "  I  don't  believe  I  could 
ever  think  of  you  in  that  way." 

"  Yes,   darling — you   will.      You    can't   help   loving 
where  you  are  loved  so  utterly." 

She  gazed  at  him  wonderingly — the  puzzled  wonder 
of  a  child.  "  You — love — me  ?  "  she  said  slowly. 

"  Call  it  what  you  like.  I  am  mad  about  you.  I 
have  forgotten  everything — pride — position — things 
you  can't  imagine — and  I  care  for  nothing  but  you.'* 

135 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


And  again  he  was  kissing  her  with  the  soft  fury  of 
fire;  and  again  she  was  submitting  with  the  passive, 
dazed  expression  that  seemed  to  add  to  his  passion.  To 
make  her  feel!  To  make  her  respond!  He,  whom  so 
many  women  had  loved — women  of  position,  of  fame  for 
beauty,  of  social  distinction  or  distinction  as  singers, 
players — women  of  society  and  women  of  talent — all 
kinds  of  worth-while  women — they  had  cared,  had  run 
after  him,  had  given  freely  all  he  had  asked  and  more. 
And  this  girl — nobody  at  all — she  had  nothing  for  him. 

He  held  her  away  from  him,  cried  angrily :  "  What 
is  the  matter  with  you?  What  is  the  matter  with  me?  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  kiss  me  so  much." 

He  released  her,  laughed  satirically.  "  Oh — you  are 
playing  a  game.  I  might  have  known." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  she.  "  A  while  ago  you 
said  you  loved  me.  Now  you  act  as  if  you  didn't  like 
me  at  all."  And  she  smiled  gayly  at  him,  pouting  her 
lips  a  little.  Once  more  her  beauty  was  shining.  It 
made  his  nerves  quiver  to  see  the  color  in  her  pure 
white  skin  where  he  had  kissed  her. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  it  is  a  game  or  not,"  he 
cried.  And  he  was  about  to  seize  her  again,  when  she 
repulsed  him.  He  crushed  her  resistance,  held  her 
tight  in  his  arms. 

"You  frighten  me,"  she  murmured.     "You — hurt 


136 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  released  her.  "  What  do  you  want?  "  he  cried. 
"Don't  you  care  at  all?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  like  you — very  much.  I  have  from 
the  first  time  I  saw  you.  But  you  seem  older — and 
more  serious." 

"  Never  mind  about  that.  We  are  going  to  love 
each  other — and  I  am  going  to  make  you  and  your 
father  happy." 

"  If  you  make  father  happy  I  will  do  anything  for 
you.  I  don't  want  anything  myself — but  he  is  getting 
old  and  sometimes  his  despair  is  terrible."  There  were 
tears  in  her  voice — tears  and  the  most  touching  tender 
ness.  "  He  has  some  great  secret  that  he  wants  to  dis 
cover,  and  he  is  afraid  he  will  die  without  having  had 
the  chance." 

"  You  will  love  me  if  I  make  your  father  happy  ?  " 

He  knew  it  was  the  question  of  a  fool,  but  he  so 
longed  to  hear  from  her  lips  some  word  to  give  him 
hope  that  he  could  not  help  asking  it.  She  said : 

"  Love  you  as — as  you  seem  to  love  me  ?  Not  that 
same  way.  I  don't  feel  that  way  toward  you.  But  I 
will  love  you  in  my  own  way." 

He  observed  her  with  penetrating  eyes.  Was  this 
speech  of  hers  innocence  or  calculation?  He  could  get 
no  clue  to  the  truth.  He  saw  nothing  but  innocence; 
the  teaching  of  experience  warned  him  to  believe  in 
nothing  but  guile.  He  hid  his  doubt  and  chagrin  be 
hind  a  mocking  smile.  "  As  you  please,"  said  he.  "  I 

137 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


will  do  my  part.     Then — we'll  see.  .  .  .  Do  you  care 
about  anyone  else — in  my  way  of  loving,  I  mean  ?  " 

It  was  again  the  question  of  an  infatuated  fool,  and 
put  in  an  infatuated  fool's  way.  For,  if  she  were  a  "  deep 
one,"  how  could  he  hope  to  get  the  truth?  But  her 
answer  reassured  him.  "  No,"  she  said — her  simple, 
direct  negation  that  had  a  convincing  power  he  had 
never  seen  equaled. 

"  If  I  ever  knew  of  another  man's  touching  you," 
he  said,  "  I'd  feel  like  strangling  him."  He  laughed 
at  himself.  "  Not  that  I  should  strangle  him.  That 
sort  of  thing  isn't  done  any  more.  But  I'd  do  some 
thing  devilish." 

"  But  I  haven't  promised  not  to  kiss  anyone  else," 
she  said.  "  Why  should  I?  I  don't  love  you." 

He  looked  at  her  strangely.  "  But  you're  going  to 
love  me,"  he  said. 

She  shrank  within  herself  again.  She  looked  at  him 
with  uneasy  eyes.  "  You  won't  kiss  me  any  more  until 
I  tell  you  that  I  do  love  you  ?  "  she  asked  with  the 
gravity  and  pathos  and  helplessness  of  a  child. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  learn  to  love  me? — to  learn  to 
love?  " 

She  was  silent — a  silence  that  maddened  him. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  to  speak,"  he  said  irritably. 
"  What  are  you  thinking?  " 

"  That  I  don't  want  you  to  kiss  me — and  that  I  do 
want  father  to  be  happy." 

138 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


Was  this  guile?  Was  it  innocence?  He  put  his 
arms  round  her.  "  Look  at  me,"  he  said. 

She  gazed  at  him  frankly. 

"You  like  me?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  don't  you  want  me  to  kiss  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     It  makes  me — dislike  you." 

He  released  her.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm 
eagerly.  "  Please — "  she  implored.  "  I  don't  mean 
to  hurt  you.  I  wouldn't  offend  you  for  anything.  Only 
— when  you  ask  me  a  question — mustn't  I  tell  you  the 
truth?" 

"  Always,"  he  said,  believing  in  her,  in  spite  of  the 
warnings  of  cynical  worldliness.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
you  are  sincere  or  not — as  yet.  So  for  the  present 
I'll  give  you  the  benefit  of  the  doubt."  He  stood  back 
and  looked  at  her  from  head  to  foot.  "  You  are  beauti 
ful! — perfect,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  He  laughed. 
"  I'll  resist  the  temptation  to  kiss  you  again.  I  must 
go  now.  About  your  father — I'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

She  stood  with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  looking 
up  at  him  with  an  expression  he  could  not  fathom.  Sud 
denly  she  advanced,  put  up  her  lips  and  said  gravely, 
"Won't  you  kiss  me?" 

He  eyed  her  quizzically.  "  Oh — you've  changed 
your  mind?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  me  to  kiss  you?  " 
139 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Because  of  what  you  said  about  father." 

He  laughed  and  kissed  her.  And  then  she,  too, 
laughed.  He  said,  "  Not  for  my  own  sake — not  a  little 
bit?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  when  you  kiss  me  that  way. 
I  like  to  be  kissed.  I  am  very  affectionate." 

He  laughed  again.  "  You  are  a  queer  one.  If  it's 
a  game,  it's  a  good  one.  Is  it  a  game?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she  gayly.  "  Good  night. 
This  is  dreadfully  late  for  me." 

"  Good  night,"  he  said,  and  they  shook  hands.  "  Do 
you  like  me  better — or  less  ?  " 

"  Better,"  was  her  prompt,  apparently  honest  reply. 

"  Curiously  enough,  I'm  beginning  to  like  you," 
said  he.  "  Now  don't  ask  me  what  I  mean  by  that. 
If  you  don't  know  already,  you'll  not  find  out  from  me." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  know,"  cried  she.  "  The  way  you 
kissed  me — that  was  one  thing.  The  way  you  feel 
toward  me  now — that's  a  different  thing.  Isn't  it  so?  " 

"  Exactly.     I  see  we  are  going  to  get  on." 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

They  shook  hands  again  in  friendliest  fashion,  and 
she  opened  the  front  door  for  him.  And  her  farewell 
smile  was  bright  and  happy. 


VII 


IN  the  cold  clear  open  he  proceeded  to  take  the 
usual  account  of  stock — with  dismal  results.  She  had 
wound  him  round  her  fingers,  had  made  him  say  only 
the  things  he  should  not  have  said,  and  leave  unsaid 
the  things  that  might  have  furthered  his  purposes.  He 
had  conducted  the  affair  ridiculously — "just  what  is 
to  be  expected  of  an  infatuated  fool."  However,  there 
was  no  consolation  in  the  discovery  that  he  was  reduced, 
after  all  these  years  of  experience,  to  the  common  level 
— man  weak  and  credulous  in  his  dealings  with  woman. 
He  hoped  that  his  disgust  with  himself  would  lead  on 
to  disgust,  or,  rather,  distaste  for  her.  It  is  the  primal 
instinct  of  vanity  to  dislike  and  to  shun  those  who  have 
witnessed  its  humiliation. 

"  I  believe  I  am  coming  to  my  senses,"  he  said.  And 
he  ventured  to  call  her  up  before  him  for  examination 
and  criticism.  This  as  he  stood  upon  the  forward  deck 
of  the  ferry  with  the  magnificent  panorama  of  New 
York  before  him.  New  York!  And  he,  of  its  strong 
men,  of  the  few  in  all  that  multitude  who  had  rank 
and  power — he  who  had  won  as  his  promised  wife  the 
daughter  of  one  of  the  dozen  mighty  ones  of  the  nation ! 

141 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


What  an  ill-timed,  what  an  absurd,  what  a  crazy  step- 
down  this  excursion  of  his!  And  for  what?  There  he 
summoned  her  before  him.  And  at  the  first  glance  of  his 
fancy  at  her  fair  sweet  face  and  lovely  figure,  he  quailed. 
He  was  hearing  her  voice  again.  He  was  feeling  the 
yield  of  her  smooth,  round  form  to  his  embrace,  the 
yield  of  her  smooth  white  cheek  to  his  caress.  In  his 
nostrils  was  the  fragrance  of  her  youth,  the  matchless 
perfume  of  nature,  beyond  any  of  the  distillations  of 
art  in  its  appeal  to  his  normal  and  healthy  nerves.  And 
he  burned  with  the  fire  only  she  could  quench.  "  I  must 
— I  must! — My  God,  I  must!  "  he  muttered. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  asked  whether  his  sister 
was  in.  The  butler  said  that  Mrs.  Fitzhugh  had  Just 
come  from  the  theater.  In  search  of  her,  he  went  to  the 
library,  found  her  seated  there  with  a  book  and  a 
cigarette,  her  wrap  thrown  back  upon  her  chair. 
"  Come  out  to  supper  with  me,  Ursula,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
starved  and  bored." 

"  Why,  you're  not  dressed !  "  exclaimed  his  sister. 
"I  thought  you  were  at  the  Cameron  dance  with 
Josephine." 

"Had  to  cut  it  out,"  replied  he  curtly.  "Will 
you  come?  " 

"  I  can't  eat,  but  I'll  drink.  Yes,  let's  have  a  spree. 
It's  been  years  since  we  had  one — not  since  we  were 
poor.  Let's  not  go  to  a  deadly  respectable  place.  Let's 
go  where  there  are  some  of  the  other  kind,  too." 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"But  I  must  have  food.     Why  not  the  Martin?" 

"  That'll  do — though  I'd  prefer  something  a  little 
farther  up  Broadway." 

"  The  Martin  is  gay  enough.  The  truth  is,  there's 
nothing  really  gay  any  more.  There's  too  much  money. 
Money  suffocates  gayety." 

To  the  Martin  they  went,  and  he  ordered  an  enor 
mous  supper — one  of  those  incredible  meals  for  which 
he  was  famous.  They  dispatched  a  quart  of  champagne 
before  the  supper  began  to  come,  he  drinking  at  least 
two  thirds  of  it.  He  drank  as  much  while  he  was  eating 
— and  called  for  a  third  bottle  when  the  coffee  was 
served.  He  had  eaten  half  a  dozen  big  oysters,  a  whole 
guinea  hen,  a  whole  portion  of  salad,  another  of  Boni 
face  cheese,  with  innumerable  crackers. 

"  If  I  could  eat  as  you  do ! "  sighed  Ursula  envi 
ously.  "  Yet  it's  only  one  of  your  accomplishments." 

"  I'm  not  eating  much  nowadays,"  said  he  gloomily. 
"  I'm  losing  my  appetite."  And  he  lit  a  long  black 
cigar  and  swallowed  half  a  large  glass  of  the  cham 
pagne.  "  Nothing  tastes  good — not  even  champagne." 

"  There  is  something  wrong  with  you,"  said  Ursula. 
"  Did  you  ask  me  out  for  confidences,  or  for  advice — 
or  for  both?" 

"  None  of  them,"  replied  he.  "  Only  for  company. 
I  knew  I'd  not  be  able  to  sleep  for  hours,  and  I  wanted 
to  put  off  the  time  when  I'd  be  alone." 

"  I  wish  I  had  as  much  influence  with  you  as  you 
145 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


have  with  me,"  said  Ursula,  by  way  of  preparation  for 
confidences. 

"  Influence  ?     Don't  I  do  whatever  you  say  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Nobody  has  influence  over  you," 
she  said. 

"  Not  even  myself,"  replied  he  morosely. 

"  Well — that  talking-to  you  gave  me  has  had  its 
effect,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Fitzhugh.  "  It  set  me  to  think 
ing.  There  are  other  things  besides  love — man  and 
woman  love.  I've  decided  to — to  behave  myself  and  give 
poor  Clayton  a  chance  to  rest."  She  smiled,  a  little 
maliciously.  "  He's  had  a  horrible  fright.  But  it's 
over  now.  What  a  fine  thing  it  is  for  a  woman  to  have 
a  sensible  brother !  " 

Norman  grunted,  took  another  liberal  draught  of 
the  champagne. 

"If  I  had  a  mind  like  yours ! "  pursued  Ursula. 
"  Now,  you  simply  couldn't  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

He  looked  at  her  sharply.  He  felt  as  if  she  had 
somehow  got  wind  of  his  eccentric  doings. 

"  I've  always  resented  your  rather  contemptuous  at>- 
titude  toward  women,"  she  went  on.  "  But  you  are 
right — really  you  are.  We're  none  of  us  worth  the 
excitement  men  make  about  us." 

"  It  isn't  the  woman  who  makes  a  fool  of  the  man," 
said  Norman.  "  It's  the  man  who  makes  a  fool  of  him 
self.  A  match  can  cause  a  terrific  explosion  if  it's  in  the 
right  place — but  not  if  it  isn't." 

144 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  nodded.  "  That's  it.  We're  simply  matches — 
and  most  of  us  of  the  poor  sputtering  kind  that  burns 
with  a  bad  odor  and  goes  out  right  away.  A  very  in 
ferior  quality  of  matches." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Norman,  "  it's  the  man  who  does 
the  whole  business." 

A  mocking  smile  curled  her  lips.  "  I  knew  you 
weren't  in  love  with  Josephine." 

He  stared  gloomily  at  his  cigar. 

"  But  you're  going  to  marry  her  ?  " 

"  I'm  in  love  with  her,"  he  said  angrily.  "  And 
I'm  going  to  marry  her." 

She  eyed  him  shrewdly.  "  Fred — are  you  in  love 
with  some  one  else  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  immediately.  When  he  did  it  was 
with  a  "  No  "  that  seemed  the  more  emphatic  for  the 
delay. 

"  Oh,  just  one  of  your  little  affairs."  And  she 
began  to  poke  fun  at  him.  "  I  thought  you  had  dropped 
that  sort  of  thing  for  good  and  all.  I  hope  Josie 
won't  hear  of  it.  She'd  not  understand.  Women  never 
do — unless  they  don't  care  a  rap  about  the  man.  .  .  . 
Is  she  on  the  stage?  I  know  you'll  not  tell  me,  but 
I  like  to  ask." 

Her  brother  looked  at  her  rather  wildly.  "  Let's 
go  home,"  he  said.  He  was  astounded  and  alarmed  by 
the  discovery  that  his  infatuation  had  whirled  him  to 
the  lunacy  of  longing  to  confide — and  he  feared  lest,  if 

145 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


he  should  stay  on,  he  would  blurt  out  his  disgraceful 
secret.     "  Waiter,  the  bill." 

"  Don't  let's  go  yet,"  urged  his  sister.  "  The  most 
interesting  people  are  beginning  to  come.  Besides,  I 
want  more  champagne." 

He  yielded.  While  she  gazed  round  with  the  air 
of  a  visitor  to  a  Zoo  that  is  affected  by  fashionable 
people,  and  commented  on  the  faces,  figures,  and  clothes 
of  the  women,  he  stared  at  his  plate  and  smoked  and 
drank.  Finally  she  said,  "  I'd  give  anything  to  see  you 
make  a  fool  of  yourself,  just  once." 

He  grinned.  "  Things  are  in  the  way  to  having 
your  wish  gratified . "  he  said.  "  It  looks  to  me  as  if 
my  time  had  come." 

She  tried  to  conceal  her  anxiety.  "  Are  you  seri 
ous  ?  "  she  asked.  Then  added :  "  Of  course  not.  You 
simply  couldn't.  Especially  now  —  when  Josephine 
might  hear.  I  suppose  you've  noticed  how  Joe  Culver 
is  hanging  round  her?" 

He  nodded. 

"  There's  no  danger — unless " 

"  I  shall  marry  Josephine." 

"  Not  if  she  hears." 

"  She's  not  going  to  hear." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  Women  love  to  boast.  It 
tickles  their  vanity  to  have  a  man.  Yes,  they  pretend 
to  be  madly  in  love  simply  to  give  themselves  the  excuse 
for  tattling." 

146 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  She'll  not  hear." 

"  You  can't  be  sure." 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  out.  I'm  going  to  tell  her 
I'm  tremendously  busy  these  few  next  days — or  weeks." 

"Weeks!"  Ursula  Fitzhugh  laughed.  "My,  it 
must  be  serious !  " 

"  Weeks,"  repeated  her  brother.  "  And  I  want  you 
to  say  things  that'll  help  out — and  to  see  a  good  deal 
of  her."  He  flung  down  his  cigar.  "  You  women  don't 
understand  how  it  is  with  a  man." 

"  Don't  we  though !  Why,  it's  a  very  ordinary  oc 
currence  for  a  woman  to  be  really  in  love  with  several 
men  at  once." 

His  eyes  gleamed  jealously.  "  I  don't  believe  it," 
he  cried. 

"  Not  Josephine,"  she  said  reassuringly.  "  She's 
one  of  those  single-hearted,  untemperamental  women. 
They  concentrate.  They  have  no  imagination." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Josephine,"  said  he  sullenly. 
"  To  go  back  to  what  I  was  saying,  I  am  in  love  with 
Josephine  and  with  no  one  else.  I  can't  explain  to 
you  how  or  why  I'm  entangled.  But  I'll  get  myself 
untangled  all  right — and  very  shortly." 

"  I  know  that,  Fred.  You  aren't  the  permanent- 
damn-fool  sort." 

"  I  should  say  not !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  It's  a  hope 
ful  sign  that  I  know  exactly  how  big  a  fool  I  am." 

She  shook  her  head  in  strong  dissent.  "  On  the  con- 
147 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


trary,"  said  she,  "  it's  a  bad  sign.  I  didn't  realize 
I  was  making  a  fool  of  myself  until  you  pointed  it  out 
to  me.  That  stopped  me.  If  I  had  been  doing  it  with 
mv  eyes  open,  your  jacking  me  up  would  only  have 
made  me  go  ahead." 

"  A  woman's  different.  It  doesn't  take  much  to  stop 
a  woman.  She's  about  half  stopped  when  she  begins." 

Ursula  was  thoroughly  alarmed.  "  Fred,"  she  said 
earnestly,  "  you're  running  bang  into  danger.  The 
time  to  stop  is  right  now." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  he  said.     "  Let's  not  talk  about  it." 

"  Can't?     That  word  from  you?  " 

"  From  me,"  replied  he.  "  Don't  forget  helping  out 
with  Josephine.  Let's  go." 

And  he  refused  to  be  persuaded  to  stay  on — or  to 
be  cajoled  or  baited  into  talking  further  of  this  secret 
his  sister  saw  was  weighing  heavily. 

He  was  down  town  half  an  hour  earlier  than  usual 
the  next  morning.  But  no  one  noted  it  because  his 
habit  had  always  been  to  arrive  among  the  first — not 
to  set  an  example  but  to  give  his  prodigious  industry 
the  fullest  swing.  There  was  in  Turkey  a  great  poet 
of  whom  it  is  said  that  he  must  have  written  twenty- 
five  hours  a  day.  Norman's  accomplishment  bulked  in 
that  same  way  before  his  associates.  He  had  not  slept 
the  whole  night.  But,  thanks  to  his  enormous  vitality, 
no  trace  of  this  serious  dissipation  showed.  The  huge 

148 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


supper  he  had  eaten — and  drunk — the  sleepless  night 
and  the  giant  breakfast  of  fruit  and  cereal  and  chops 
and  wheat  cakes  and  coffee  he  had  laid  in  to  stay  him 
until  lunch  time,  would  together  have  given  pause  to 
any  but  such  a  physical  organization  as  his.  The  only 
evidence  of  it  was  a  certain  slight  irritability — but  this 
may  have  been  due  to  his  state  of  intense  self -dissatis 
faction. 

As  he  entered  the  main  room  his  glance  sought  the 
corner  where  Miss  Hallowell  was  ensconced.  She  hap 
pened  to  look  up  at  that  instant.  With  a  radiant  smile 
she  bowed  to  him  in  friendliest  fashion.  He  colored 
deeply,  frowned  with  annoyance,  bowed  coldly  and  strode 
into  his  room.  He  fussed  and  fretted  about  with  his 
papers  for  a  few  minutes,  then  rang  the  bell. 

"  Send  in  Miss  Pritchard — no,  Mr.  Gowdy — no, 
Miss  Hallowell,"  he  said  to  the  office  boy.  And  then  he 
looked  sharply  at  the  pert  young  face  for  possible 
signs  of  secret  cynical  amusement.  He  saw  none  such, 
but  was  not  convinced.  He  knew  too  well  how  by  a 
sort  of  occult  process  the  servants,  all  the  subordinates, 
round  a  person  like  himself  discover  the  most  intimate 
secrets,  almost  get  the  news  before  anything  has  really 
occurred. 

Miss  Hallowell  appeared,  and  very  cold  and  reserved 
she  looked  as  she  stood  waiting. 

"  I  sent  for  you  because — "  he  began.  He  glanced 
at  the  door  to  make  sure  that  it  was  closed — "  because 

149 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


I  wanted  to  hear  your  voice."  And  he  laughed  boy 
ishly.  He  was  in  high  good  humor  now. 

"  Why  did  you  speak  to  me  as  you  did  when  you 
came  in  ?  "  said  she. 

There  was  certainly  novelty  in  this  direct  attack, 
this  equal  to  equal  criticism  of  his  manners.  He  was 
not  pleased  with  the  novelty;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
felt  a  lack  of  the  courage  to  answer  her  as  she  deserved, 
even  if  she  was  playing  a  clever  game.  "  It  isn't  neces 
sary  that  the  whole  office  should  know  our  private  busi 
ness,"  said  he. 

She  seemed  astonished.     "  What  private  business  ?  " 

"  Last  night,"  said  he,  uncertain  whether  she  was 
trifling  with  him  or  was  really  the  innocent  she  pre 
tended  to  be.  "  If  I  were  you,  I'd  not  speak  as  friend- 
lily  as  you  did  this  morning — not  before  people." 

"  Why  ?  "  inquired  she,  her  sweet  young  face  still 
more  perplexed. 

"  This  isn't  a  small  town  out  West,"  explained  he. 
"  It's  New  York.  People  misunderstand — or  rather — " 
He  gave  her  a  laughing,  mischievous  glance — "  or 
rather— they  don't." 

"  I  can't  see  anything  to  make  a  mystery  about," 
declared  the  girl.  "  Why,  you  act  as  if  there  were 
something  to  be  ashamed  of  in  coming  to  see  me." 

He  was  observing  her  sharply.  How  could  a  girl 
live  in  the  New  York  atmosphere  several  years  without 
getting  a  sensible  point  of  view?  Yet,  so  far  as  he 

150 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


could  judge,  this  girl  was  perfectly  honest  in  her  igno 
rance.  "  Don't  be  foolish,"  said  he.  "  Please  accept  the 
fact  as  I  give  it  to  you.  You  mustn't  let  people  see 
everything." 

She  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  dislike  for  this. 
"  I  won't  be  mixed  up  in  anything  like  that,"  said  she, 
quite  gently  and  without  a  suggestion  of  pique  or  anger. 
"  It  makes  me  feel  low — and  it's  horribly  common. 
Either  we  are  going  to  be  friends  or  we  aren't.  And 
if  we  are,  why,  we're  friends  whenever  we  meet.  I'm 
not  ashamed  of  you.  And  if  you  are  ashamed  of  me, 
you  can  cut  me  out  altogether." 

His  color  deepened  until  his  face  was  crimson.  His 
eyes  avoided  hers.  "  I  was  thinking  chiefly  of  you,"  he 
said — and  he  honestly  thought  he  was  speaking  the 
whole  truth. 

"  Then  please  don't  do  so  any  more,"  said  she,  turn 
ing  to  go.  "I  understand  about  New  York  snobbish 
ness.  I  want  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

He  disregarded  the  danger  of  the  door  being  opened 
at  any  moment.  He  rushed  to  her  and  took  her  reluc 
tant  hand.  "  You  mustn't  blame  me  for  the  ways  of 
the  world.  I  can't  change  them.  Do  be  sensible,  dear 
est.  You're  only  going  to  be  here  a  few  days  longer. 
I've  got  that  plan  for  you  and  your  father  all  thought 
out.  I'll  put  it  through  at  once.  I  don't  want  the 
office  talking  scandal  about  us — do  you  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  pityingly.  His  eyes  fell  before 
151 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


hers.  "  I  know  it's  a  weakness,"  he  said,  giving  up 
trying  to  deceive  her  and  himself.  "  But  I  can't  help 
it.  I  was  brought  up  that  way." 

"  Well — /  wasn't.  I  see  we  can  never  be  friends." 
What  a  mess  he  had  made  of  this  affair !  This  girl 
must  be  playing  upon  him.  In  his  folly  he  had  let  her 
see  how  completely  he  was  in  her  power,  and  she  was 
using  that  power  to  establish  relations  between  them 
that  were  the  very  opposite  of  what  he  desired — and 
must  have.  He  must  control  himself.  "  As  you  please," 
he  said  coldly,  dropping  her  hand.  "  I'm  sorry,  but 
unless  you  are  reasonable  I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 
And  he  went  to  his  desk. 

She  hesitated  a  moment;  as  her  back  was  toward 
him,  he  could  not  see  her  expression.  Without  looking 
round  she  went  out  of  his  office.  It  took  all  his 
strength  to  let  her  go.  "  She's  bluffing,"  he  muttered. 
"  And  yet — perhaps  she  isn't.  There  may  be  people 
like  that  left  in  New  York."  Whatever  the  truth,  he 
simply  must  make  a  stand.  He  knew  women ;  no  woman 
had  the  least  respect  for  a  man  who  let  her  rule — and 
this  woman,  relying  upon  his  weakness  for  her,  was  bent 
upon  ruling.  If  he  did  not  make  a  stand,  she  was  lost 
to  him.  If  he  did  make  a  stand,  he  could  no  more  than 
lose  her.  Lose  her!  That  thought  made  him  sick  at 
heart.  "  What  a  fool  I  am  about  her !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
must  hurry  things  up.  I  must  get  enough  of  her — 
must  get  through  it  and  back  to  my  sober  senses." 

152 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


That  was  a  time  of  heavy  pressure  of  important  af 
fairs.  He  furiously  attacked  one  task  after  another, 
only  to  abandon  each  in  turn.  His  mind,  which  had 
always  been  his  obedient,  very  humble  servant,  abso 
lutely  refused  to  obey.  He  turned  everything  over  to 
his  associates  or  to  subordinates,  fighting  all  morning 
against  the  longing  to  send  for  her.  At  half  past 
twelve  he  strode  out  of  the  office,  putting  on  the  air 
of  the  big  man  absorbed  in  big  affairs.  He  descended 
to  the  street.  But  instead  of  going  up  town  to  keep 
an  appointment  at  a  business  lunch  he  hung  round  the 
entrance  to  the  opposite  building. 

She  did  not  appear  until  one  o'clock.  Then  out  she 
came  —  with  the  head  office  boy !  —  the  good-looking, 
young  head  office  boy. 

Norman's  contempt  for  himself  there  reached  its 
lowest  ebb.  For  his  blood  boiled  with  jealousy — jeal 
ousy  of  his  head  office  boy  ! — and  about  an  obscure  little 
typewriter!  He  followed  the  two,  keeping  to  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  Doubtless  those  who  saw  and  rec 
ognized  him  fancied  him  deep  in  thought  about  some 
mighty  problem  of  corporate  law  or  policy,  as  he  moved 
from  and  to  some  meeting  with  the  great  men  who 
dictated  to  a  nation  of  ninety  millions  what  they  should 
buy  and  how  much  they  should  pay  for  it.  He  saw  the 
two  enter  a  quick-lunch  restaurant — struggled  with  a 
crack-brained  impulse  to  join  them — dragged  himself 
away  to  his  appointment. 

153 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  was  never  too  amiable  in  dealing  with  his  clients, 
because  he  had  found  that,  in  self -protection,  to  avoid 
being  misunderstood  and  largely  increasing  the  diffi 
culties  of  amicable  intercourse,  he  must  keep  the  feel  of 
iron  very  near  the  surface.  That  day  he  was  for  the 
first  time  irascible.  If  the  business  his  clients  were  en 
gaged  in  had  been  less  perilous  and  his  acute  intelligence 
not  indispensable,  he  would  have  cost  the  firm  dear.  But 
in  business  circles,  where  every  consideration  yields  to 
that  of  material  gain,  the  man  with  the  brain  may 
conduct  himself  as  he  pleases — and  usually  does  so, 
when  he  has  strength  of  character. 

All  afternoon  he  wrestled  with  himself  to  keep  away 
from  the  office.  He  won,  but  it  was  the  sort  of  victory 
that  gives  the  winner  the  chagrin  and  despondency  of 
defeat.  At  home,  late  in  the  afternoon,  he  found  Joseph 
ine  in  the  doorway,  just  leaving.  "  You'll  walk  home 
with  me — won't  you  ?  "  she  said.  And,  taken  unawares 
and  intimidated  by  guilt,  he  could  think  of  no  excuse. 

Some  one — probably  a  Frenchman — has  said  that 
there  are  always  in  a  man's  life  three  women — the  one 
on  the  way  out,  the  one  that  is,  and  the  one  that  is  to 
be.  Norman — ever  the  industrious  trafficker  with  the 
feminine  that  the  man  of  the  intense  vitality  necessary 
to  a  great  career  of  action  is  apt  to  be — was  by  no 
means  new  to  the  situation  in  which  he  now  found  him 
self.  But  never  before  had  the  circumstances  been  so 
difficult.  Josephine  in  no  way  resembled  any  woman 

154 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


with  whom  he  had  been  involved;  she  was  the  first  he 
had  taken  seriously.  Nor  did  the  other  woman  resemble 
the  central  figure  in  any  of  his  affairs.  He  did  not 
know  what  she  was  like,  how  to  classify  her;  but  he 
did  know  that  she  was  unlike  any  woman  he  had  ever 
known  and  that  his  feeling  for  her  was  different — ap 
pallingly  different — from  any  emotion  any  other  wom 
an  had  inspired  in  him.  So — a  walk  alone  with  Joseph 
ine — a  first  talk  with  her  after  his  secret  treachery — 
was  no  light  matter.  "  Deeper  and  deeper,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  Where  is  this  going  to  end  ?  " 

She  began  by  sympathizing  with  him  for  having  so 
much  to  do — "  and  father  says  you  can  get  through 
more  work  than  any  man  he  ever  knew,  not  excluding 
himself."  She  was  full  of  tenderness  and  compliment, 
of  a  kind  of  love  that  made  him  feel  as  the  dirt  beneath 
his  feet.  She  respected  him  so  highly ;  she  believed 
in  him  so  entirely.  The  thought  of  her  discovering  the 
truth,  or  any  part  of  it,  gave  him  a  sensation  of  nausea. 
He  was  watching  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  Never 
had  he  seen  her  more  statelily  beautiful.  If  he  should 
lose  her !  "  I'm  mad — mad! "  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Josephine  is  as  high  above  her  as  heaven  above  earth. 
What  is  there  to  her,  anyhow?  Not  brains — nor  taste 
— nor  such  miraculous  beauty.  Why  do  I  make  an  ass 
of  myself  about  her  ?  I  ought  to  go  to  my  doctor." 

"  I  don't  believe  you're  listening  to  what  I'm  say 
ing,"  laughed  Josephine. 

6  155 


THE    GRAIN   OF  DUST 


"My  head's  in  a  terrible  state,"  replied  he.  "I 
can't  think  of  anything." 

"  Don't  try  to  talk  or  to  listen,  dearest,"  said  she 
in  the  sweet  and  soothing  tone  that  is  neither  sweet  nor 
soothing  to  a  man  in  a  certain  species  of  unresponsive 
mood.  "  This  air  will  do  you  good.  It  doesn't  annoy 
you  for  me  to  talk  to  you,  does  it  ?  " 

The  question  was  one  of  those  which  confidently  ex 
pects,  even  demands,  a  sincere  and  strenuous  negative 
for  answer.  It  fretted  him,  this  matter-of-course  as 
sumption  of  hers  that  she  could  not  but  be  altogether 
pleasing,  not  to  say  enchanting  to  him.  Her  position, 
her  wealth,  the  attentions  she  had  received,  the  flat 
teries —  In  her  circumstances  could  it  be  in  human 
nature  not  to  think  extremely  well  of  oneself?  And  he 
admitted  that  she  had  the  right  so  to  think.  Still — 
For  the  first  time  she  scraped  upon  his  nerves.  His 
reply,  "Annoy  me?  The  contrary,"  was  distinctly 
crisp.  To  an  experienced  ear  there  would  have  sounded 
the  faint  warning  under-note  of  sullenness. 

But  she,  believing  in  his  love  and  in  herself,  saw 
nothing,  suspected  nothing.  "  We  know  each  other  so 
thoroughly,"  she  went  on,  "  that  we  don't  need  to  make 
any  effort.  How  congenial  we  are !  I  always  under 
stand  you.  I  feel  such  a  sense  of  the  perfect  freedom 
and  perfect  frankness  between  us.  Don't  you?  " 

66  You  have  wonderful  intuitions,"  said  he. 

It  was  the  time  to  alarm  him  by  coldness,  by  capri- 
156 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ciousness.  But  how  could  she  know  it?  And  she  was 
in  love — really  in  love — not  with  herself,  not  with  love, 
but  with  him.  Thus,  she  made  the  mistake  of  all  true 
lovers  in  those  difficult  moments.  She  let  him  see  how 
absolutely  she  was  his.  Nor  did  the  spectacle  of  her 
sincerity,  of  her  belief  in  his  sincerity  put  him  in  any 
better  humor  with  himself. 

The  walk  was  a  mere  matter  of  a  dozen  blocks.  He 
thought  it  would  never  end.  "  You  are  sure  you  aren't 
ill  ?  "  she  said,  when  they  were  at  her  door — a  superb 
bronze  door  it  was,  opening  into  a  house  of  the  splendor 
that  for  the  acclimated  New  Yorker  quite  conceals  and 
more  than  compensates  absence  of  individual  taste. 
"  You  don't  look  ill.  But  you  act  queerly." 

**  I'm  often  this  way  when  they  drive  me  too  hard 
down  town." 

She  looked  at  him  with  fond  admiration ;  he  might 
have  been  better  pleased  had  there  not  been  in  the  look 
a  suggestion  of  the  possessive.  "  How  they  do  need 
you!  Father  says —  But  I  mustn't  make  you  any 
vainer  than  you  are." 

He  usually  loved  compliment,  could  take  it  in  its 
rawest  form  with  fine  human  gusto.  Now,  he  did  not 
care  enough  about  that  "  father  says  "  to  risg  to  her 
obvious  bait.  "  I'm  horribly  tired,"  he  said.  "  Shall 
I  see  you  to-morrow  ?  No,  I  guess  not — not  for  several 
days.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  she.  "  I'll  miss  you  dreadfully, 
157 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


but  my  father  has  trained  me  well.     I  know  I  mustn't 
be  selfish — and  tempt  you  to  neglect  things." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he.     "  I  must  be  off." 

"You'll  come  in — just  a  moment?"  Her  eyes 
sparkled.  "  The  butler  will  have  sense  enough  to  go 
straight  away — and  the  small  reception  room  will  be 
quite  empty  as  usual." 

He  could  not  escape.  A  few  seconds  and  he  was 
alone  with  her  in  the  little  room — how  often  had  he — 
they — been  glad  of  its  quiet  and  seclusion  on  such  oc 
casions !  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulders,  gazed 
at  him  proudly.  "  It  was  here,"  said  she,  "  that  you 
first  kissed  me.  Do  you  remember?  " 

To  take  her  gaze  from  his  face  and  to  avoid  seeing 
her  look  of  loving  trust,  he  put  his  arms  round  her. 
"  I  don't  deserve  you,"  he  said — one  of  those  empty 
pretenses  of  confession  that  yet  give  the  human  soul  a 
isense  of  truthfulness. 

"  You'd  not  say  that  if  you  knew  how  happy  you 
make  me,"  murmured  she. 

The  welcome  sound  of  a  step  in  the  hall  give  him 
his  release.  When  he  was  in  the  street,  he  wiped  his  hot 
face  with  his  handkerchief.  "  And  I  thought  I  had  no 
moral  sense  left !  "  he  reflected — not  the  first  man,  in 
this  climax  day  of  the  triumph  of  selfish  philosophies, 
to  be  astonished  by  the  discovery  that  the  dead  hands 
of  heredity  and  tradition  have  a  power  that  can  suc 
cessfully  defy  reason. 

158 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  started  to  walk  back  home,  on  impulse  took  a 
passing  taxi  and  went  to  his  club.  It  was  the  Federal. 
They  said  of  it  that  no  man  who  amounted  to  anything 
in  New  York  could  be  elected  a  member,  because  any 
man  on  his  way  up  could  not  but  offend  one  or  more  of 
the  important  persons  in  control.  Most  of  its  members 
were  nominated  at  birth  or  in  childhood  and  elected  as 
soon  as  they  were  twenty-one.  Norman  was  elected 
after  he  became  a  man  of  consequence.  He  regarded  it 
as  one  of  the  signal  triumphs  of  his  career ;  and  beyond 
question  it  was  proof  of  his  power,  of  the  eagerness  of 
important  men,  despite  their  jealousy,  to  please  him  and 
to  be  in  a  position  to  get  the  benefit  of  his  brains  should 
need  arise.  Norman's  whole  career,  like  every  career 
great  and  small,  in  the  arena  of  action,  was  a  derision 
of  the  ancient  moralities,  a  demonstration  of  the  value 
of  fear  as  an  aid  to  success.  Even  his  friends — and  he 
had  as  many  as  he  cared  to  have — had  been  drawn  to 
him  by  the  desire  to  placate  him,  to  stand  well  where 
there  was  danger  in  standing  ill. 

Until  dinner  time  he  stood  at  the  club  bar,  drink 
ing  one  cocktail  after  another  with  that  supreme  in 
difference  to  consequences  to  health  which  made  his 
fellow  men  gape  and  wonder — and  cost  an  occasional 
imitator  health,  and  perhaps  life.  Nor  did  the  powerful 
liquor  have  the  least  effect  upon  him,  apparently.  Pos 
sibly  he  was  in  a  better  humor,  but  not  noticeably  so. 
He  dined  at  the  club  and  spent  the  evening  at  bridge, 

159 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


winning  several  hundred  dollars.  He  enjoyed  the  con 
sideration  he  received  at  that  club,  for  his  fellow  mem 
bers  being  men  of  both  social  and  financial  consequence, 
their  conspicuous  respect  for  him  was  a  concentrated 
essence  of  general  adulation.  He  lingered  on,  eating 
a  great  supper  with  real  appetite.  He  went  home  in 
high  good  humor  with  himself.  He  felt  that  he  was  a 
conqueror  born,  that  such  things  of  his  desire  as  did 
not  come  could  be  forced  to  come.  He  no  longer  re 
garded  his  passion  for  the  nebulous  girl  of  many  per 
sonalities  as  a  descent  from  dignity.  Was  he  not  king? 
Did  not  his  favor  give  her  whatever  rank  he  pleased? 
Might  not  a  king  pick  and  choose,  according  to  his 
fancy?  Let  the  smaller  fry  grow  nervous  about  these 
matters  of  caste.  They  did  well  to  take  care  lest  they 
should  fall.  But  not  he!  He  had  won  thus  far  by 
haughtiness,  never  by  cringing.  His  mortal  day  would 
be  that  in  which  he  should  abandon  his  natural  tactics 
for  the  modes  of  lesser  men.  True,  only  a  strong  head 
could  remain  steady  in  these  giddy  altitudes  of  self- 
confidence.  But  was  not  his  head  strong? 

And  without  hesitation  he  called  up  the  vision  that 
made  him  delirious — and  detained  it  and  reveled  in  it 
until  sleep  came. 


VIII 


THE  longer  he  thought  of  it  the  stronger  grew  his 
doubt  that  the  little  Hallowell  girl  could  be  so  indiffer 
ent  to  him  as  she  seemed.  Not  that  she  was  a  fraud — 
that  is,  a  conscious  fraud — even  so  much  of  a  fraud  as 
the  sincerest  of  the  other  women  he  had  known.  Simply 
that  she  was  carrying  out  a  scheme  of  coquetry.  Could 
it  be  in  human  nature,  even  in  the  nature  of  the  most 
indiscriminating  of  the  specimens  of  young  feminine 
ignorance  and  folly,  not  to  be  flattered  by  the  favor  of 
such  a  man  as  he  ?  Common  sense  answered  that  it  could 
not  be — but  neglected  to  point  out  to  him  that  almost 
any  vagary  might  be  expected  of  human  nature,  when  it 
could  produce  such  a  deviation  from  the  recognized 
types  as  a  man  of  his  position  agitated  about  such  an 
unsought  obscurity  as  Miss  Hallowell.  He  continued 
to  debate  the  state  of  her  mind  as  if  it  were  an  affair 
of  mightiest  moment — which,  indeed,  it  was  to  him.  And 
presently  his  doubt  strengthened  into  conviction.  She 
must  be  secretly  pleased,  flattered,  responsive.  She  had 
been  in  the  office  long  enough  to  be  impressed  by  his 
position.  Yes,  there  must  be  more  or  less  pretense  in  her 

161 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


apparently  complete  indifference — more  or  less  pretense, 
more  or  less  coquetry,  probably  not  a  little  timidity. 

She  would  come  down  from  her  high  horse — with 
help  and  encouragement  from  him.  He  was  impatient  to 
get  to  the  office  and  see  just  how  she  would  do  it — 
what  absurd,  amusing  attractive  child's  trick  she  would 
think  out,  imagining  she  could  fool  him,  as  lesser  in 
telligences  are  ever  fatuously  imagining  they  can  outwit 
greater. 

He  rather  thought  she  would  come  in  to  see  him  on 
some  pretext,  would  maneuver  round  like  a  bird  pre 
tending  to  flutter  away  from  the  trap  it  has  every  inten 
tion  of  entering.  But  eleven  o'clock  of  a  wasted  morn 
ing  came  and  she  did  not  appear.  He  went  out  to  see  if 
she  was  there — she  must  be  sick ;  she  could  not  be  there 
or  he  would  have  heard  from  her.  .  .  .  Yes,  she  was  at 
her  desk,  exactly  as  always.  No,  not  exactly  the  same. 
She  was  obviously  attractive  now ;  the  air  of  insigni 
ficance  had  gone,  and  not  the  dullest  eyes  in  that  office 
could  fail  to  see  at  least  something  of  her  beauty. 
And  Tetlow  was  hanging  over  her,  while  the  girls  and 
boys  grinned  and  whispered.  Clearly,  the  office  was 
"  on  to  "  Tetlow.  .  .  .  Norman,  erect  and  coldly  in 
furiate,  called  out: 

"  Mr.  Tetlow — one  moment,  please." 

He  went  back  to  his  den,  Tetlow  startling  and  fol 
lowing  like  one  on  the  way  to  the  bar  for  sentence. 
"  Mr.  Tetlow,"  he  said,  when  they  were  shut  in  to- 

162 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 

gether,  "  you  are  making  a  fool  of  yourself  before  the 
whole  office." 

"  Be  a  little  patient  with  me,  Mr.  Norman,"  said  the 
head  clerk  humbly.  "  I've  got  another  place  for  her. 
She's  going  to  take  it  to-morrow.  Then — there'll  be 
no  more  trouble." 

Norman  paled.  "  She  wishes  to  leave  ?  "  he  con 
trived  to  articulate. 

"She  spoke  to  me  about  leaving  before  I  told  her 
I  had  found  her  another  job." 

Norman  debated — but  for  only  a  moment.  "  I  do 
not  wish  her  to  leave,"  he  said  coldly.  "  I  find  her  use 
ful  and  most  trustworthy." 

Tetlow's  eyes  were  fixed  strangely  upon  him. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you?  "  asked  Norman,  the 
under-note  of  danger  but  thinly  covered. 

"Then  she  was  right,"  said  Tetlow  slowly.  "I 
thought  she  was  mistaken.  I  see  that  she  is  right." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Norman — a  mere  in 
quiry,  devoid  of  bluster  or  any  other  form  of  nervous 
ness. 

"  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  Fred  Norman," 
said  Tetlow.  "  And  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
self." 

"  Don't  stand  there  scowling  and  grimacing  like 
an  idiot,"  said  Norman  with  an  amused  smile.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  She  told  me — about  your  coining  to  see  her — 
168 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


about  your  offer  to  do  something  for  her  father — about 
your  acting  in  a  way  that  made  her  uneasy." 

For  an  instant  Norman  was  panic-stricken.  Then 
his  estimate  of  her  reassured  him.  "  I  took  your  ad 
vice,"  said  he.  "  I  went  to  see  for  myself.  How  did 
I  act  that  she  was  made  uneasy  ?  " 

"  She  didn't  say.  But  a  woman  can  tell  what  a  man 
has  in  the  back  of  his  head — when  it  concerns  her.  And 
she  is  a  good  woman — so  innocent  that  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself  for  even  thinking  of  her  in  that 
way.  God  has  given  innocence  instincts,  and  she  felt 
what  you  were  about." 

Norman  laughed — a  deliberate  provocation.  "  Love 
has  made  a  fool  of  you,  old  man,"  he  said. 

"  I  notice  you  don't  deny,"  retorted  Tetlow 
shrewdly. 

"  Deny  what?  There's  nothing  to  deny."  He  felt 
secure  now  that  he  knew  she  had  been  reticent  with 
Tetlow  as  to  the  happenings  in  the  cottage. 

"  Maybe  I'm  wronging  you,"  said  Tetlow,  but  not 
in  the  tone  of  belief.  "  However  that  may  be,  I  know 
you'll  not  refuse  to  listen  to  my  appeal.  I  love  her, 
Norman.  I'm  going  to  make  her  my  wife  if  I  can. 
And  I  ask  you — for  the  sake  of  our  old  friendship — 
to  let  her  alone.  I've  no  doubt  you  could  dazzle  her. 
You  couldn't  make  a  bad  woman  of  her.  But  you 
could  make  her  very  miserable." 

Norman  pushed  about  the  papers  before  him.  His 
164 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


face  wore  a  cynical  smile;  but  Tetlow,  who  knew  him 
in  all  his  moods,  saw  that  he  was  deeply  agitated. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  win  her,  Fred,"  he  pleaded. 
"  But  I  feel  that  I  might  if  I  had  a  fair  chance." 

"  You  think  she'd  refuse  you?  "  said  Norman. 

"  Like  a  flash,  unless  I'd  made  her  care  for  me. 
That's  the  kind  she  is." 

"  That  sounds  absurd.  Why,  there  isn't  a  woman 
in  New  York  who  would  refuse  a  chance  to  take  a  high 
jump  up." 

"  I'd  have  said  so,  too.  But  since  I've  gotten  ac 
quainted  with  her  I've  learned  better.  She  may  be 
spoiled  some  day,  but  she  hasn't  been  yet.  God  knows, 
I  wish  I  could  tempt  her.  But  I  can't." 

"  You're  entirely  too  credulous,  old  man.  She'll 
make  a  fool  of  you." 

"  I  know  better,"  Tetlow  stubbornly  maintained. 
"  Anyhow,  I  don't  care.  I  love  her,  and  I'd  marry  her, 
no  matter  what  her  reason  for  marrying  me  was." 

What  pitiful  infatuation! — worse  than  his  own. 
Poor  Tetlow!— he  deserved  a  better  fate  than  to  be 
drawn  into  this  girl's  trap — for,  of  course,  she  never 
could  care  for  such  a  heavy  citizen — heavy  and  homely 
— the  loosely  fat  kind  of  homely  that  is  admired  by  no 
one,  not  even  by  a  woman  with  no  eye  at  all  for  the 
physical  points  of  the  male.  It  would  be  a  real  kind 
ness  to  save  worthy  Tetlow.  What  a  fool  she'd  make 
of  him! — how  she'd  squander  his  money — and  torment 

165 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


him  with  jealousy — and  unfit  him  for  his  career.  Poor 
Tetlow!  If  he  could  get  what  he  wanted,  he'd  be  well 
punished  for  his  imprudence  in  wanting  it.  Really, 
could  friendship  do  him  a  greater  service  than  to  save 
him? 

Norman  gave  Tetlow  a  friendly,  humorous  glance. 
"  You're  a  hopeless  case,  Billy,"  he  said.  "  But  at 
least  don't  rush  into  trouble.  Take  your  time.  You 
can  always  get  in,  you  know;  and  you  may  not  get 
in  quite  so  deep." 

"  You  promise  to  let  her  alone  ? "  said  Tetlow 
eagerly. 

Again  his  distinguished  friend  laughed.  "  Don't 
be  an  ass,  old  man.  Why  imagine  that,  just  because 
you've  taken  a  fancy  to  a  girl,  everyone  wants  her?  " 
He  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  gave  him  a  push  to 
ward  the  door.  "  I've  wasted  enough  time  on  this  non 
sense." 

Tetlow  did  not  venture  to  disregard  a  hint  so  plain. 
He  went  with  his  doubt  still  unsolved — his  doubt  wheth 
er  his  jealousy  was  right  or  his  high  opinion  of  his 
hero  friend  whose  series  of  ever-mounting  successes  had 
filled  him  with  adoration.  He  knew  the  way  of  success, 
knew  no  man  could  tread  it  unless  he  had,  or  acquired, 
a  certain  hardness  of  heart  that  made  him  an  uncom 
fortable  not  to  say  dangerous  associate.  He  regretted 
his  own  inability  to  acquire  that  indispensable  hardness, 
and  envied  and  admired  it  in  Fred  Norman.  But,  at 

166 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  same  time  that  he  admired,  he  could  not  help  dis 
trusting. 

Norman  battled  with  his  insanity  an  hour,  then  sent 
for  Miss  Hallo  well. 

The  girl  had  lost  her  look  of  strength  and  vitality. 
She  seemed  frail  and  dim — so  unimportant  physically 
that  he  wondered  why  her  charm  for  him  persisted. 
Yet  it  did  persist.  If  he  could  take  her  in  his  arms, 
could  make  her  drooping  beauty  revive! — through  love 
for  him  if  possible;  if  not,  then  through  anger  and 
hate !  He  must  make  her  feel,  must  make  her  acknowl 
edge,  that  he  had  power.  It  seemed  to  him  another 
instance  of  the  resistless  fascination  which  the  unattain 
able,  however  unworthy,  has  ever  had  for  the  con 
queror  temperament. 

"  You  are  leaving  ?  "  he  said  curtly,  both  a  question 
and  an  affirmation. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake — a  serious  mistake." 

She  stood  before  him  listlessly,  as  if  she  had  no  in 
terest  either  in  what  he  was  saying  or  in  him.  That 
maddening  indifference ! 

"  It  was  a  mistake  to  tattle  your  trouble  to  Tetlow." 

"  I  did  not  tattle,"  said  she  quietly,  colorlessly.  "  I 
said  only  enough  to  make  him  help  me." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  about  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  had  misjudged  you — that  I  must  be  mis 
taken." 

167 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman  laughed.  "  How  seriously  the  little  people 
of  the  world  do  take  themselves ! " 

She  looked  at  him.  His  amused  eyes  met  hers 
frankly.  "  You  didn't  mean  it  ?  "  she  said. 

He  beamed  on  her.  "  Certainly  I  did.  But  I'm 
not  a  lunatic  or  a  wild  beast.  Do  you  think  I  would 
take  advantage  of  a  girl  in  your  position  ?  " 

Her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  large  and  weary,  and  an 
expression  of  experience  stole  over  her  young  face,  giv 
ing  it  a  strange  appearance  of  age-in-youth.  "  It  has 
been  done,"  said  she. 

How  reconcile  such  a  look  with  the  theory  of  her 
childlike  innocence?  But  then  how  reconcile  any  two 
of  the  many  varied  personalities  he  had  seen  in  her? 
He  said :  "  Yes — it  has  been  done.  But  not  by  me. 
I  shall  take  from  you  only  what  you  gladly  give." 

"  You  will  get  nothing  else,"  said  she  with  quiet 
strength. 

"  That  being  settled — "  he  went  on,  holding  up  a 
small  package  of  papers  bound  together  by  an  elastic — 
"  Here  are  the  proposed  articles  of  incorporation  of 
the  Chemical  Research  Company.  How  do  you  like 
the  name  ?  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  company  that  is  to  back  your  father.  Cap 
ital  stock,  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  one  half  paid 
up.  Your  father  to  be  employed  as  director  of  the 
laboratories  at  five  thousand  a  year,  with  a  fund  of 

168 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ten  thousand  to  draw  upon.  You  to  be  employed  as 
secretary  and  treasurer  at  fifteen  hundred  a  year.  I 
will  take  the  paid-up  stock,  and  your  father  and  you 
will  have  the  privilege  of  buying  it  back  at  par  within 
five  years.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  was  her  unexpected  reply. 
Her  replies  were  usually  unexpected,  like  the  expres 
sions  of  her  face  and  figure;  she  was  continually  com 
prehending  where  one  would  have  said  she  would  not, 
and  not  comprehending  where  it  seemed  absurd  that 
she  should  not.  "  Yes,  I  understand.  .  .  .  What  else?  " 

"  Nothing  else." 

She  looked  intently  at  him,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to 
be  reading  his  soul  to  the  bottom. 

"  Nothing  else,"  he  repeated. 

"  No  obligation — for  money — or — for  anything?  " 

"  No  obligation.  A  hope  perhaps."  He  was  smil 
ing  with  the  gayest  good  humor.  "  But  not  the  kind 
of  hope  that  ever  becomes  a  disagreeable  demand  for 
payment." 

She  seated  herself,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  her  eyes 
down — a  lovely  picture  of  pensive  repose.  He  waited 
patiently,  feasting  his  senses  upon  her  delicate,  aro 
matic  loveliness.  At  last  she  said: 

"  I  accept." 

He  had  anticipated  an  argument.  This  promptness 
took  him  by  surprise.  He  felt  called  upon  to  explain, 
to  excuse  her  acceptance.  "  I  am  taking  a  little  flyer 

169 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


— making  a  gamble,"  said  he.  "  Your  father  may  turn 
up  nothing  of  commercial  value.  Again  the  company 
may  pay  big " 

She  gave  him  a  long  look  through  half -closed  eyes, 
a  queer  smile  flitting  round  her  lips.  "  I  understand 
perfectly  why  you  are  doing  it,"  she  said.  "  Do  you 
understand  why  I  am  accepting?  " 

"Why  should  you  refuse?"  rejoined  he.  "It  is  a 
good  business  prop " 

"  You  know  very  well  why  I  should  refuse.  But — " 
She  gave  a  quiet  laugh  of  experience ;  it  made  him  feel 
that  she  was  making  a  fool  of  him — "  I  shall  not  refuse. 
I  am  able  to  take  care  of  myself.  And  I  want  father 
to  have  his  chance.  Of  course,  I  shan't  explain  to  him." 
She  gave  him  a  mischievous  glance.  "  And  I  don't  think 
you  will." 

He  contrived  to  cover  his  anger,  doubt,  chagrin,  gen 
eral  feeling  of  having  been  outwitted.  "  No,  I  shan't 
tell  him,"  laughed  he.  "  You  are  making  a  great  fool 
of  me." 

"  Do  you  want  to  back  out?  " 

What  audacity !  He  hesitated — did  not  dare.  Her 
indifference  to  him — her  personal,  her  physical  indiffer 
ence  gave  her  the  mastery.  His  teeth  clenched  and  his 
passion  blazed  in  his  eyes  as  he  said :  "  No — you  witch ! 
I'll  see  it  through." 

She  smiled  lightly.  "  I  suppose  you'll  come  to  the 
offices  of  the  company — occasionally  ? "  She  drew 

170 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


nearer,  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  desk.  Into  her  ex 
quisite  eyes  came  a  look  of  tenderness.  "  And  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  You  mean  that  ?  "  he  said,  despising  himself  for 
his  humble  eagerness,  and  hating  her  even  as  he  loved 
her. 

"  Indeed  I  do."  She  smiled  bewitchingly.  "  You 
are  a  lot  better  man  than  you  think." 

"  I  am  an  awful  fool  about  you,"  retorted  he.  "  You 
see,  I  play  my  game  with  all  my  cards  on  the  table.  I 
wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  you." 

"  I  am  not  playing  a  game,"  replied  she.  "  You 
make  a  mystery  where  there  isn't  any.  And — all  your 
cards  aren't  on  the  table."  She  laughed  mockingly. 
"  At  least,  you  think  there's  one  that  isn't — though, 
really,  it  is." 

"Yes?" 

"  About  your  engagement." 

He  covered  superbly.  "  Oh,"  said  he  in  the  most 
indifferent  tone.  "  Tetlow  told  you." 

"  As  soon  as  I  heard  that,"  she  went  on,  "  I  felt 
better  about  you.  I  understand  how  it  is  with  men — 
the  passing  fancies  they  have  for  women." 

"  How  did  you  learn  ?  "  demanded  he. 

"  Do  you  think  a  girl  could  spend  several  years 
knocking  about  down  town  in  New  York  without  get 
ting  experience?  " 

He  smiled — a  forced  smile  of  raillery,  hiding  sud- 
171 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


den  fierce  suspicion  and  jealousy.  "  I  should  say  not. 
But  you  always  pretend  innocence." 

"  I  can't  be  held  responsible  for  what  you  read  into 
my  looks  and  into  what  I  say,"  observed  she  with  her 
air  of  a  wise  old  infant.  "  But  I  was  so  glad  to  find 
out  that  you  were  seriously  in  love  with  a  nice  girl  up 
town." 

He  burst  out  laughing.  She  gazed  at  him  in  child 
like  surprise.  "  Why  are  you  laughing  at  me  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  he  assured  her.  He  would 
have  found  it  difficult  to  explain  why  he  was  so  intensely 
amused  at  hearing  the  grand  Josephine  Burroughs 
called  "  a  nice  girl  up  town." 

"  You  are  in  love  with  her  ?  You  are  engaged  to 
her?  "  she  inquired,  her  grave  eyes  upon  him  with  an 
irresistible  appeal  for  truth  in  them. 

"  Tetlow  didn't  lie  to  you,"  evaded  he.  "  You  don't 
know  it,  but  Tetlow  is  going  to  ask  you  to  marry  him." 

"  Yes,  I  knew,"  replied  she  indifferently. 

"How?    Did  he  tell  you?" 

"  No.  Just  as  I  knew  you  were  not  going  to  ask 
me  to  marry  you." 

The  mere  phrase,  even  when  stated  as  a  negation, 
gave  him  a  sensation  of  ice  suddenly  laid  against  the 
heart. 

"  It's  quite  easy  to  tell  the  difference  between  the 
two  kinds  of  men — those  that  care  for  me  more  than 

172 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


they  care  for  themselves  and  those  that  care  for  them 
selves  more  than  they  care  for  me." 

"  That's  the  way  it  looks  to  you — is  it?  " 

"  That's  the  way  it  is,"  said  she. 

"  There  are  some  things  you  don't  understand.  This 
is  one  of  them." 

"  Maybe  I  don't,"  said  she.  "  But  I've  my  own 
idea — and  I'm  going  to  stick  to  it." 

This  amused  him.  "  You  are  a  very  opinionated 
and  self-confident  young  lady,"  said  he. 

She  laughed  roguishly.  "  I'm  taking  up  a  lot  of 
your  time." 

"  Don't  think  of  it.  You  haven't  asked  when  the 
new  deal  is  to  begin." 

"  Oh,  yes— and  I  shall  have  to  tell  Mr.  Tetlow  I'm 
not  taking  the  place  he  got  for  me." 

"  Be  careful  what  you  say  to  him,"  cautioned  Nor 
man.  "  You  must  see  it  wouldn't  be  well  to  tell  him 
what  you  are  going  to  do.  There's  no  reason  on  earth 
why  he  should  know  your  business — is  there?  " 

She  did  not  reply;  she  was  reflecting. 

"  You  are  not  thinking  of  marrying  Tetlow — are 
you?" 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  love  him— and  couldn't 
learn  to." 

With  a  sincerely  judicial  air,  now  that  he  felt  se 
cure,  he  said:  "  Why  not?  It  would  be  a  good  match." 

"  I  don't  love  him,"  she  repeated,  as  if  that  were  a 
173 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


sufficient  and  complete  answer.  And  he  was  astonished 
to  find  that  he  so  regarded  it,  also,  in  spite  of  every  as 
sault  of  all  that  his  training  had  taught  him  to  regard 
as  common  sense  about  human  nature. 

"  You  can  simply  say  to  Tetlow  that  you've  decided 
to  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  your  father.  The 
offices  of  the  company  will  be  at  your  house.  Your 
official  duties  practically  amount  to  taking  care  of  your 
father.  So  you'll  be  speaking  the  truth." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  exactly  lying,  to  keep  something  from 
somebody  who  has  no  right  to  know  it.  What  you  sug 
gest  isn't  quite  the  truth.  But  it's  near  enough,  and 
I'll  say  it  to  him." 

His  own  view  of  lying  was  the  same  as  that  she 
had  expressed.  Also,  he  had  no  squeamishness  about 
saying  what  was  in  no  sense  true,  if  the  falsehood  were 
necessary  to  his  purposes.  Yet  her  statement  of  her 
code,  moral  though  he  thought  it  and  eminently  sensible/ 
as  well,  lowered  her  once  more  in  his  estimation.  He 
was  eager  to  find  reason  or  plausible  excuse  for  believ 
ing  her  morally  other  and  less  than  she  seemed  to  be. 
Immediately  the  prospects  of  his  ultimate  projects — 
whatever  they  might  prove  to  be — took  on  a  more  hope 
ful  air.  "  And  I'd  advise  you  to  have  Tetlow  keep  away 
from  you.  We  don't  want  him  nosing  round." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  she.  "  He  is  a  nice  man,  but 
tiresome.  And  if  I  encouraged  him  ever  so  little,  he'd 
be  sentimental.  The  most  tiresome  thing  in  the  world 

174 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


to  a  girl  is  a  man  who  talks  that  sort  of  thing  when 
she  doesn't  want  to  hear  it — from  him." 

He  laughed.     "  Meaning  me?  "  he  suggested. 

She  nodded,  much  pleased.     "  Perhaps,"  she  replied. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,"  mocked  he. 

"  I  shan't  till  I  have  to,"  she  assured  him.  "  And 
I  don't  think  I'll  have  to." 

On  the  Monday  morning  following,  Tetlow  came  in 
to  see  Norman  as  soon  as  he  arrived.  "  I  want  a  two 
weeks'  leave,"  he  said.  "  I'm  going  to  Bermuda  or  down 
there  somewhere." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Norman.  "  You 
do  look  ill,  old  man." 

"  I  saw  her  last  night,"  replied  the  chief  clerk, 
dropping  an  effort  at  concealing  his  dejection.  "  She 
— she  turned  me  down." 

"Really?  You?"  Norman's  tone  of  sympathetic 
surprise  would  not  have  deceived  half  attentive  ears. 
But  Tetlow  was  securely  absorbed.  "  Why,  Billy,  she 
can't  hope  to  make  as  good  a  match." 

"  That's  what  I  told  her — when  I  saw  the  game  was 
going  against  me.  But  it  was  no  use." 

Norman  trifled  nervously  with  the  papers  before 
him.  Presently  he  said,  "Is  it  some  one  else?" 

Tetlow  shook  his  head. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  Because  she  said  so,"  replied  the  head  clerk. 
175 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Oh — if  she  said  so,  that  settles  it,"  said  Norman 
with  raillery. 

"  She's  given  up  work — thank  God,"  pursued  Tet- 
low.  "  She's  getting  more  beautiful  all  the  time — 
Norman,  if  you  had  seen  her  last  night,  you'd  under 
stand  why  I'm  stark  mad  about  her." 

Norman's  eyes  were  down.  His  hands,  the  muscles 
of  his  jaw  were  clinched. 

"But,  I  mustn't  think  of  that,"  Tetlow  went  on. 
"  As  I  was  about  to  say,  if  she  were  to  stay  on  in  the 
offices  some  one — some  attractive  man  like  you,  only 
with  the  heart  of  a  scoundrel " 

Norman  laughed  cynically. 

"  Yes,  a  scoundrel !  "  reiterated  the  fat  head-clerk. 
"  Some  scoundrel  would  tempt  her  beyond  her  power  to 
resist.  Money  and  clothes  and  luxury  will  do  anything. 
We  all  get  to  be  harlots  here  in  New  York.  Some  of 
us  know  it,  and  some  don't.  But  we  all  look  it  and 
act  it.  And  she'd  go  the  way  of  the  rest — with  or 
without  marriage.  It's  just  as  well  she  didn't  marry; 
me.  I  know  what'd  have  become  of  her." 

Norman  nodded. 

Tetlow  gave  a  weary  sigh.  "  Anyhow,  she's  safe  at 
home  with  her  father.  He's  found  a  backer  for  his 
experiments." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Norman. 

"  You  can  spare  me  for  ten  days,"  Tetlow  went 
on.  "  I'd  be  of  no  use  if  I  stayed." 

176 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


There  was  a  depth  of  misery  in  his  kind  gray  eyes 
that  moved  Norman  to  get  up  and  lay  a  friendly  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "  It's  the  best  thing,  old  man.  She 
wasn't  for  you." 

Tetlow  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sobbed.  "  It  has 
killed  me,"  he  groaned.  "  I  don't  mean  I'll  commit 
suicide  or  die.  I  mean  I'm  dead  inside — dead." 

"  Oh,  come,  Billy — where's  your  good  sense  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  said  he.  "  Nor 
man,  God  help  the  man  who  meets  the  woman  he  really 
wants — God  help  him  if  she  doesn't  want  him.  You 
don't  understand.  You'll  never  have  the  experience. 
Any  woman  you  wanted  would  be  sure  to  want  you." 

Norman,  his  hand  still  on  Tetlow's  shoulder,  was 
staring  ahead  with  a  terrible  expression  upon  his  strong 
features. 

"  If  she  could  see  the  inside  of  me — the  part  that's 
the  real  me — I  think  she  would  love  me — or  learn  to 
love  me.  But  she  can  only  see  the  outside — this  homely 
face  and  body  of  mine.  It's  horrible,  Fred — to  have 
a  mind  and  a  heart  fit  for  love  and  for  being  loved, 
and  an  outside  that  repels  it.  And  how  many  of  us 
poor  devils  of  that  sort  there  are — men  and  women 
both!" 

Norman  was  at  the  window  now,  his  back  to  the 
room,  to  his  friend.  After  a  while  Tetlow  rose  and 
made  a  feeble  effort  to  straighten  himself.  "Is  it  all 
right  about  the  vacation  ?  "  he  asked. 

177 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Certainly,"  said  Norman,  without  turning. 

"  Thank  you,  Fred.    You're  a  good  friend." 

"  I'll  see  you  before  you  go,"  said  Norman,  still 
facing  the  window.  "  You'll  come  back  all  right." 

Tetlow  did  not  answer.  When  Norman  turned  he 
was  alone. 


It  has  killed  me/  he  groaned. 


IX 


IN  no  way  was  Norman's  luck  superior  to  most 
men's  more  splendidly  than  in  that  his  inborn  tendency 
to  arrogant  and  extravagant  desires  was  matched  by  an 
inborn  capacity  to  get  the  necessary  money.  His  lux 
urious  tastes  were  certainly  not  moderated  by  his  as 
sociations  —  enormously  rich  people  who,  while  they 
could  be  stingy  enough  in  some  respects,  at  the  same 
time  could  and  did  fling  away  fortunes  in  gratifying 
selfish  whims — for  silly  showy  houses,  for  retinues  of 
wasteful  servants,  for  gewgaws  that  accentuated  the 
homeliness  of  their  homely  women  and  coarsened  and 
vulgarized  their  pretty  women  —  or  perhaps  for  a 
night's  gambling  or  entertaining,  or  for  the  forced 
smiles  arid  contemptuous  caresses  of  some  belle  of  the 
other  world.  Norman  fortunately  cared  not  at  all  for 
the  hugely  expensive  pomp  of  the  life  of  the  rich ;  if  he 
had,  he  would  have  hopelessly  involved  himself,  as  after 
all  he  was  not  a  money-grubber  but  a  lawyer.  But  when 
there  appeared  anything  for  which  he  did  care,  he  was 
ready  to  bid  for  it  like  the  richest  of  the  rich. 

Therefore  the  investment  of  a  few  thousand  dollars 
seemed  a  small  matter  to  him.  He  had  many  a  time 

179 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


tossed  away  far  more  for  far  less.  He  did  not  dole 
out  the  sum  he  had  agreed  to  provide.  He  paid  it 
into  the  Jersey  City  bank  to  the  credit  of  the  Chemical 
Research  Company  and  informed  its  secretary  and  treas 
urer  that  she  could  draw  freely  against  it.  "  If  you 
will  read  the  by-laws  of  the  company,"  said  he,  "  you 
will  see  that  you've  the  right  to  spend  exactly  as  you 
see  fit.  When  the  money  runs  low,  let  me  know." 

"  I'll  be  very  careful,"  said  Dorothea  Hallowell,  sec 
retary  and  treasurer. 

"  That's  precisely  what  we  don't  want,"  replied  he. 
He  glanced  round  the  tiny  parlor  of  the  cottage.  "  We 
want  everything  to  be  run  in  first-class  shape.  That's 
the  only  way  to  get  results.  First  of  all,  you  must 
take  a  proper  house — a  good-sized  one,  with  large 
grounds — room  for  building  your  father  a  proper 
laboratory." 

Her  dazed  and  dazzled  expression  delighted  him. 

"  And  you  must  live  better.  You  must  keep  at 
least  two  servants." 

"  But  we  can't  afford  it." 

"  Your  father  has  five  thousand  a  year.  You  have 
fifteen  hundred.  That  makes  sixty-five  hundred.  The 
rent  of  the  house  and  the  wages  and  keep  of  the  servants 
are  a  charge  against  the  corporation.  So,  you  can  well 
afford  to  make  yourselves  comfortable." 

"  I  haven't  got  used  to  the  idea  as  yet,"  said 
Dorothea.  "  Yes — we  are  better  off  than  we  were." 

180 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  And  you  must  live  better.  I  want  you  to  get 
some  clothes — and  things  of  that  sort." 

She  shrank  within  herself  and  sat  quiet,  her  gaze 
fixed  upon  her  hands  lying  limp  in  her  lap. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  your  father  shouldn't  be 
made  absolutely  comfortable  and  happy.  That's  the 
way  to  get  the  best  results  from  a  man  of  his  sort." 

She  faded  on  toward  the  self-effacing  blank  he  had 
first  known. 

"  Think  it  out,  Dorothy,"  he  said  in  his  frankest, 
kindliest  way.  "  You'll  see  I'm  right." 

"No,"  she  said. 

"  No?     What  does  that  mean?  " 

"  I've  an  instinct  against  it,"  replied  she.  "  I'd 
rather  father  and  I  kept  on  as  we  are." 

"  But  that's  impossible.  You've  no  right  to  live  in 
this  small,  cramping  way.  You  must  broaden  out  and 
give  him  room  to  grow.  .  .  .  Isn't  that  sensible?  " 

"  It  sounds  so,"  she  admitted.  "  But—"  She  gazed 
round  helplessly — "  I'm  afraid !  " 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Then  don't  bother  about  it." 

"  I'll  have  to  be  very — careful,"  she  said  thought^ 
fully. 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  he.  "  Only,  don't  live  and 
think  on  a  ten-dollar-a-week  basis.  That  isn't  the  way 
to  get  on." 

181 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  never  again  brought  up  the  matter  in  direct 
form.  But  most  of  his  conversation  was  indirect  and 
more  or  less  subtle  suggestions  as  to  ways  of  branching 
out.  She  moved  cautiously  for  a  few  days,  then  timidly 
began  to  spend  money. 

There  is  a  notion  widely  spread  abroad  that  people 
who  have  little  money  know  more  about  the  art  of  spend 
ing  money  and  the  science  of  economizing  than  those 
who  have  much.  It  would  be  about  as  sensible  to  say 
that  the  best  swimmers  are  those  who  have  never  been 
near  the  water,  or  no  nearer  than  a  bath  tub.  Anyone 
wishing  to  be  convinced  need  only  make  an  excursion 
into  the  poor  tenement  district  and  observe  the  garbage 
barrels  overflowing  with  spoiled  food — or  the  trashy 
goods  exposed  for  sale  in  the  shops  and  the  markets. 
Those  who  have  had  money  and  have  lost  it  are  prob 
ably,  as  a  rule,  the  wisest  in  thrift.  Those  who  have 
never  had  money  are  almost  invariably  prodigal — be 
cause  they  are  ignorant.  When  Dorothea  Hallowell  was 
a  baby  the  family  had  had  money.  But  never  since  she 
could  remember  had  they  been  anything  but  poor. 

She  did  not  know  how  to  spend  money.  She  did 
not  know  prices  or  values — being  in  that  respect  pre 
cisely  like  the  mass  of  mankind — and  womankind — who 
imagine  they  are  economical  because  they  hunt  so-called 
bargains  and  haggle  with  merchants  who  have  got 
doubly  ready  for  them  by  laying  in  inferior  goods  and 
by  putting  up  prices  in  advance.  She  knew  how  much 

18$ 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ten  dollars  a  week  was,  the  meaning  of  the  twenty  to 
thirty  dollars  a  week  her  father  had  made.  But  she 
had  only  a  faint — and  exaggeratedly  mistaken — notion 
about  sixty-five  hundred  a  year — six  and  a  half  thou 
sands.  It  seemed  wealth  to  her,  so  vast  that  a  hundred 
thousand  a  year  would  have  seemed  no  more.  As  soon 
as  she  drifted  away  from  the  known  course — the  thirty 
to  forty  dollars  a  week  upon  which  they  had  been  living 
— Dorothea  Hallowell  was  in  a  trackless  sea,  with  a 
broken  compass  and  no  chart  whatever.  A  common 
enough  experience  in  America,  the  land  of  sudden 
changes  of  fortune,  of  rosiest  hopes  about  "  striking  it 
rich,"  of  carelessness  and  ignorance  as  to  values,  of 
eager  and  untrained  appetite  for  luxury  and  novelty 
of  any  and  every  kind. 

At  first  any  expenditure,  however  small,  for  the  plain 
est  comfort  which  had  been  beyond  their  means  seemed 
a  giddy  extravagance.  But  a  bank  account — and  a 
check  book — soon  dissipated  that  nervousness.  A  few 
charge  accounts,  a  little  practice  in  the  simple  easy 
gesture  of  drawing  a  check,  and  she  was  almost  at  her 
ease.  With  people  who  have  known  only  squalor  or 
with  those  who  have  earned  their  better  fortune  by 
privation  and  slow  accumulation,  the  spreading  out  pro 
cess  is  usually  slow — not  so  slow  as  it  used  to  be  when 
our  merchants  had  not  learned  the  art  of  tempting  any 
and  every  kind  of  human  nature,  but  still  far  from 
rapid.  A  piece  of  money  reminds  them  vividly  and 

183 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


painfully  of  the  toil  put  into  acquiring  it ;  and  they  shy 
away  from  the  pitfall  of  the  facile  check.  With  those 
born  and  bred  as  Dorothy  was  and  elevated  into  what 
seems  to  them  affluence  by  no  effort  of  their  own,  the 
spreading  is  a  tropical,  overnight  affair. 

Counting  all  she  spent  and  arranged  to  spend  in 
those  first  few  weeks,  you  had  no  great  total.  But  it 
was  great  for  a  girl  who  had  been  making  ten  dollars  a 
week.  Also  there  were  sown  in  her  mind  broadcast  and 
thick  the  seeds  of  desire  for  more  luxurious  comfort,  of 
need  for  it,  that  could  never  be  uprooted. 

Norman  came  over  almost  every  evening.  He  got 
a  new  and  youthful  and  youth-restoring  kind  of  pleas 
ure  out  of  this  process  of  expansion.  He  liked  to  hear 
each  trifling  detail,  and  he  was  always  making  sugges 
tions  that  bore  immediate  fruit  in  further  expenditure. 
When  he  again  brought  up  the  subject  of  a  larger 
house,  she  listened  with  only  the  faintest  protests.  Her 
ideas  of  such  a  short  time  before  seemed  small,  laugh 
ably  small  now.  "  Father  was  worrying  only  this  morn 
ing  because  he  is  so  cramped,"  she  admitted. 

"  We  must  remedy  that  at  once,"  said  Norman. 

And  on  the  following  Sunday  he  and  she  went  house 
hunting.  They  found  a  satisfactory  place — peculiarly 
satisfactory  to  Norman  because  it  was  near  the  Hudson 
tunnel,  and  so  only  a  few  minutes  from  his  office.  To 
Dorothy  it  loomed  a  mansion,  almost  a  palace.  In  fact 
it  was  a  modestly  roomy  old-fashioned  brick  house,  with 

184 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


a  brick  stable  at  the  side  that,  with  a  little  changing, 
would  make  an  admirable  laboratory. 

"  You  haven't  the  time — or  the  experience — to  fit 
this  place  up,"  said  Norman.  "  I'll  attend  to  it — that 
is,  I'll  have  it  attended  to."  Seeing  her  uneasy  expres 
sion,  he  added :  "  I  can  get  much  better  terms.  They'd 
certainly  overcharge  you.  There's  no  sense  in  wasting 
money — is  there?  " 

"  No,"  she  admitted,  convinced. 

He  gave  the  order  to  a  firm  of  decorators.  It  was 
a  moderate  order,  considering  the  amount  of  work  that 
had  to  be  done.  But  if  the  girl  had  seen  the  estimates 
Norman  indorsed,  she  would  have  been  terrified.  How 
ever,  he  saw  to  it  that  she  did  not  see  them ;  and  she, 
ignorant  of  values,  believed  him  when  he  told  her  the 
general  account  of  the  corporation  must  be  charged  with 
two  thousand  dollars. 

Her  alarm  took  him  by  surprise.  The  sum  seemed 
small  to  him — and  it  was  only  about  one  fifth  what 
the  alterations  and  improvements  had  cost.  Cried  she, 
"  Why,  that's  more  than  our  whole  income  for  a  year 
has  been ! " 

"  You  are  forgetting  these  improvements  add  to  the 
value  of  the  property.  I've  bought  it." 

That  quieted  her.  "  You  are  sure  you  didn't  pay 
those  decorators  and  furnishers  too  much  ?  "  said  she. 

"You  don't  like  their  work?"  inquired  he,  cha 
grined. 

185 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Oh,  yes — yes,  indeed,"  she  assured  him.  "  I  like 
plain,  solid-looking  things.  But — two  thousand  dollars 
is  a  lot  of  money." 

Norman  regretted  that,  as  his  whole  object  had 
been  to  please  her,  he  had  not  ordered  the  more  showy 
cheaper  stuff  but  had  insisted  upon  the  simplest,  plain 
est-looking  appointments  throughout.  Even  her  bed 
room  furniture,  even  her  dressing  table  set,  was  of  the 
kind  that  suggests  cost  only  to  the  experienced,  care 
fully  and  well  educated  in  values  and  in  taste. 

"  But  I'm  sure  it  isn't  fair  to  charge  all  these  things 
to  the  company,"  she  protested.  "  I  can't  allow  it.  Not 
the  things  for  my  personal  use." 

"  You  are  a  fierce  watchdog  of  a  treasurer,"  said 
Norman,  laughing  at  her  but  noting  and  respecting  the 
fine  instinct  of  good  breeding  shown  in  her  absence 
of  greediness,  of  desire  to  get  all  she  could.  "  But  I'm 
letting  the  firm  of  decorators  take  over  what  you  leave 
behind  in  the  old  house.  I'll  see  what  they'll  allow  for 
it.  Maybe  that  will  cover  the  expense  you  object  to." 

This  contented  her.  Nor  was  she  in  the  least  sus 
picious  when  he  announced  that  the  decorators  had  made 
such  a  liberal  allowance  that  the  deficit  was  but  three 
hundred  dollars.  "  Those  chaps,"  he  explained,  "  have 
a  wide  margin  of  profit.  Besides,  they're  eager  to  get 
more  and  bigger  work  from  me." 

A  few  weeks,  and  he  was  enjoying  the  sight  of  her 
ensconced  with  her  father  in  luxurious  comfort — with 

186 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


two  servants,  with  a  well-run  house,  with  pleasant  gar 
dens,  with  all  that  is  at  the  command  of  an  income  of 
six  thousand  a  year  in  a  comparatively  inexpensive  city. 
Only  occasionally — and  then  not  deeply — was  he  trou 
bled  by  the  reflection  that  he  was  still  far  from  his  goal 
— and  had  made  apparently  absurdly  little  progress 
toward  it  through  all  this  maneuvering.  The  truth  was, 
he  preferred  to  linger  when  lingering  gave  him  so  many 
new  kinds  of  pleasure.  Of  those  in  the  large  and 
motley  company  that  sit  down  to  the  banquet  of  the 
senses,  the  most  are  crude,  if  not  coarse,  gluttons.  They 
eat  fast  and  furiously,  having  a  raw  appetite.  Now 
and  then  there  is  one  who  has  some  idea  of  the  art  of 
enjoyment — the  art  of  prolonging  and  varying  both 
the  joys  of  anticipation  and  the  joys  of  realization. 

He  turned  his  attention  to  tempting  her  to  extrava 
gance  in  dress.  But  his  success  there  was  not  all  he 
could  have  wished.  She  wore  better  clothes — much  bet 
ter.  She  no  longer  looked  the  poor  working  girl,  strug 
gling  desperately  to  be  neat  and  clean.  She  had  almost 
immediately  taken  on  the  air  of  the  comfortable  classes. 
But  everything  she  got  for  herself  was  inexpensive. 
And  she  made  dresses  for  herself,  and  trimmed  all  her 
hats.  With  the  hats  Norman  found  no  fault.  There 
her  good  taste  produced  about  as  satisfactory  results  as 
could  have  been  got  at  the  fashionable  milliners — more 
satisfactory  than  are  got  by  the  women  who  go  there, 
with  no  taste  of  their  own  beyond  a  hazy  idea  that  they 
T  187 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


want  "  something  like  what  Mrs.  So-and-So  is  wearing." 
But  homemade  dresses  were  a  different  matter. 

Norman  longed  to  have  her  in  toilettes  that  would 
bring  out  the  full  beauty  of  her  marvelous  figure.  He, 
after  the  manner  of  the  more  intelligent  and  worldly- 
wise  New  York  men,  had  some  knowledge  of  women's 
clothes.  His  sister  knew  how  to  dress ;  Josephine  knew 
how,  though  her  taste  was  somewhat  too  sober  to  suit 
Norman — at  least  to  suit  him  in  Dorothy.  He  thought 
out  and  suggested  dresses  to  Dorothy,  and  told  her 
where  to  get  them.  Dorothy  tried  to  carry  out  at  home 
such  of  his  suggestions  as  pleased  her — for,  like  all 
women,  she  believed  she  knew  how  to  dress  herself.  Her 
handiwork  was  creditable.  It  would  have  contented  a 
less  exacting  and  less  trained  taste  than  Norman's.  It 
would  have  contented  him  had  he  not  been  infatuated 
with  her  beauty  of  face  and  form.  As  it  was,  the  im 
provement  in  her  appearance  only  served  to  intensify 
his  agitation.  He  now  saw  in  her  not  only  all  that 
had  first  conquered  him,  but  also  those  unsuspected 
beauties  and  graces — and  possibilities  of  beauty  and 
grace  yet  more  entrancing,  were  she  but  dressed  prop 
erly. 

"  You  don't  begin  to  appreciate  how  beautiful  you 
are,"  said  he.  It  had  ever  been  one  of  his  rules  in 
dealing  with  women  to  feed  their  physical  vanity  spar 
ingly  and  cautiously,  lest  it  should  blaze  up  into  one  of 
those  consuming  flames  that  produce  a  very  frenzy  of! 

188 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


conceit.  But  this  rule,  like  all  the  others,  had  gone  by 
the  board.  He  could  not  conceal  his  infatuation  from 
her,  not  even  when  he  saw  that  it  was  turning  her  head 
and  making  his  task  harder  and  harder.  "  If  you 
would  only  go  over  to  New  York  to  several  dressmakers 
whose  names  I'll  give  you,  I  know  you'd  get  clothes 
from  them  that  you  could  touch  up  into  something 
uncommon." 

"  I  can't  afford  it,"  said  she.  "  What  I  have  is  good 
enough — and  costs  more  than  I've  the  right  to  pay." 
And  her  tone  silenced  him;  it  was  the  tone  of  finality, 
and  he  had  discovered  that  she  had  a  will. 

Never  before  had  Frederick  Norman  let  any  im 
portant  thing  drift.  And  when  he  started  in  with  Dor 
othy  he  had  no  idea  of  changing  that  fixed  policy.  He 
would  have  scoffed  if  anyone  had  foretold  to  him  that 
he  would  permit  the  days  and  the  weeks  to  go  by  with 
nothing  definite  accomplished  toward  any  definite  pur 
pose.  Yet  that  was  what  occurred.  Every  time  he 
came  he  had  in  mind  a  fixed  resolve  to  make  distinct 
progress  with  the  girl.  Every  time  he  left  he  had  a 
furious  quarrel  with  himself  for  his  weakness.  "  She  is 
making  a  fool  of  me,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  She  must 
be  laughing  at  me."  But  he  returned  only  to  repeat 
his  folly,  to  add  one  more  to  the  lengthening,  mocking 
series  of  lost  opportunities. 

The  truth  lay  deeper  than  he  saw.  He  recognized 
189 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


only  his  own  weakness  of  the  infatuated  lover's  fatuous 
timidity.  He  did  not  realize  how  potent  her  charm  for 
him  was,  how  completely  content  she  made  him  when 
he  was  with  her,  just  from  the  fact  that  they  were 
together.  After  a  time  an  unsatisfied  passion  often  thus 
diffuses  itself,  ceases  to  be  a  narrow  torrent,  becomes  a 
broad  river  whose  resistless  force  is  hidden  beneath 
an  appearance  of  sparkling  calm.  Her  ingenuousness 
amused  him;  her  developing  taste  and  imagination  in 
terested  him ;  her  freshness,  her  freedom  from  any  sense 
of  his  importance  in  the  world  fascinated  him,  and  there 
was  a  keener  pleasure  than  he  dreamed  in  the  novel  sen 
sation  of  breathing  the  perfume  of  what  he,  the  one 
time  cynic,  would  have  staked  his  life  on  being  unsul 
lied  purity.  Their  relations  were  to  him  a  delightful 
variation  upon  the  intimacy  of  master  and  pupil.  Either 
he  was  listening  to  her  or  was  answering  her  questions 
— and  the  time  flew.  And  there  never  was  a  moment 
when  he  could  have  introduced  the  subject  that  most 
concerned  him  when  he  was  not  with  her.  To  have 
introduced  it  would  have  been  rudely  to  break  the 
charm  of  a  happy  afternoon  or  evening. 

Was  she  leading  him  on  and  on  nowhere  deliberately  ? 
Or  was  it  the  sweet  and  innocent  simplicity  it  seemed? 
He  could  not  tell.  He  would  have  broken  the  charm 
and  put  the  matter  to  the  test  had  he  not  been  afraid 
of  the  consequences.  What  had  he  to  fear?  Was  she 
not  in  his  power?  Was  she  not  his,  whenever  he  should 

190 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


stretch  forth  his  hand  and  claim  her?  Yes — no  doubt 
— not  the  slightest  doubt.  But —  He  was  afraid  to 
break  the  charm ;  it  was  such  a  satisfying  charm. 

Then — there  was  her  father. 

Men  who  arrive  anywhere  in  any  direction  always 
have  the  habit  of  ignoring  the  nonessential  more  or  less 
strongly  developed.  One  reason  —  perhaps  the  chief 
reason — why  Norman  had  got  up  to  the  high  places 
of  material  success  at  so  early  an  age  was  that  he 
had  an  unerring  instinct  for  the  essential  and  wasted 
no  time  or  energy  upon  the  nonessential.  In  his  pres 
ent  situation  Dorothy's  father,  the  abstracted  man  of 
science,  was  one  of  the  factors  that  obviously  fell  into 
the  nonessential  class.  Norman  knew  little  about  him, 
and  cared  less.  Also,  he  took  care  to  avoid  knowing 
him.  Knowing  the  father  would  open  up  possibilities 
of  discomfort —  But,  being  a  wise  young  man,  Norman 
gave  this  matter  the  least  possible  thought. 

Still,  it  was  necessary  that  the  two  men  see  some 
thing  of  each  other.  Hallowell  discovered  nothing 
about  Norman,  not  enough  about  his  personal  appear 
ance  to  have  recognized  him  in  the  street  far  enough 
away  from  the  laboratory  to  dissociate  the  two  ideas. 
Human  beings — except  his  daughter — did  not  interest 
Hallowell;  and  his  feeling  for  her  was  somewhat  in  the 
nature  of  an  abstraction.  Norman,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  intensely  interested  in  human  beings;  indeed,  he 
was  interested  in  little  else.  He  was  always  thrusting 

191 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


through  surfaces,  probing  into  minds  and  souls.  He 
sought  thoroughly  to  understand  the  living  machines 
he  used  in  furthering  his  ambitions  and  desires.  So  it 
was  not  long  before  he  learned  much  about  old  Newton 
Hallowell — and  began  to  admire  him — and  with  a  man 
of  Norman's  temperament  to  admire  is  to  like. 

He  had  assumed  at  the  outset  that  the  scientist  was 
more  or  less  the  crank.  He  had  not  talked  with  him 
many  times  before  he  discovered  that,  far  from  being 
in  any  respect  a  crank,  he  was  a  most  able  and  well- 
balanced  mentality — a  genius.  The  day  came  when, 
Dorothy  not  having  returned  from  a  shopping  tour, 
he  lingered  in  the  laboratory  talking  with  the  father, 
or,  rather,  listening  while  the  man  of  great  ideas  un 
folded  to  him  conceptions  of  the  world  that  set  his 
imagination  to  soaring. 

Most  of  us  see  but  dimly  beyond  the  ends  of  our 
noses,  and  visualize  what  lies  within  our  range  of  sight 
most  imperfectly.  We  know  little  about  ourselves,  less 
about  others.  We  fancy  that  the  world  and  the  human 
race  always  have  been  about  as  they  now  are,  and  always 
will  be.  History  reads  to  us  like  a  fairy  tale,  to  which 
we  give  conventional  acceptance  as  truth.  As  to  the 
future,  we  can  conceive  nothing  but  the  continuation  of 
just  what  we  see  about  us  in  the  present.  Norman, 
practical  man  though  he  was,  living  in  and  for  the 
present,  had  yet  an  imagination.  He  thought  Hallo- 
well  a  kind  of  fool  for  thinking  only  of  the  future  and 

192 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


working  only  for  it — but  he  soon  came  to  think  him  a 
divine  fool.  And  through  Hallowell's  spectacles  he  was 
charmed  for  many  an  hour  with  visions  of  the  world 
that  is  to  be  when,  in  the  slow  but  steady  processes  of 
evolution,  the  human  race  will  become  intelligent,  will 
conquer  the  universe  with  the  weapons  of  science  and 
will  make  it  over. 

When  he  first  stated  his  projects  to  Norman,  the 
young  man  had  difficulty  in  restraining  his  amusement. 
A  new  idea,  in  any  line  of  thought  with  which  we  are 
not  familiar,  always  strikes  us  as  ridiculous.  Norman 
had  been  educated  in  the  ignorant  conventional  way  still 
in  high  repute  among  the  vulgar  and  among  those  whose 
chief  delight  is  to  make  the  vulgar  gape  in  awe.  He 
therefore  had  no  science,  that  is,  no  knowledge — outside 
his  profession — but  only  what  is  called  learning,  though 
tommyrot  would  be  a  fitter  name  for  it.  He  had  only 
the  most  meager  acquaintance  with  that  great  funda 
mental  of  a  sound  and  sane  education,  embryology.  He 
knew  nothing  of  what  science  had  already  done  to  de 
stroy  all  the  still  current  notions  about  the  mystery  of 
life  and  birth.  He  still  laughed,  as  at  a  clever  bit  of 
legerdemain,  when  Hallo  well  showed  him  how  far  sci 
ence  had  progressed  toward  mastery  of  the  life  of  the 
lower  forms  of  existence — how  those  "  worms  "  could  be 
artificially  created,  could  be  aged,  made  young  again, 
made  diseased  and  decrepit,  restored  to  perfect  health, 
could  be  swung  back  and  forth  or  sideways  or  sinuously 

193 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


along  the  span  of  existence — could  even  be  killed  and 
brought  back  to  vigor. 

"  We've  been  at  this  sort  of  thing  only  a  few 
years,"  said  Hallowell.  "  I  rather  think  it  will  not  be 
many  years  now  before  we  shall  not  even  need  the  initial 
germ  of  life  to  enable  us  to  create  but  can  do  it  by 
pure  chemical  means,  just  as  a  taper  is  lighted  by  hold 
ing  a  match  to  it." 

Norman  ceased  to  think  of  sleight-of-hand. 

"  Life,"  continued  the  juggler,  transformed  now  into 
practical  man,  leader  of  men,  "  life  has  been  demon 
strated  to  be  simply  one  of  the  forms  of  energy,  or 
one  of  the  consequences  of  energy.  The  final  discovery 
is  scientifically  not  far  away.  Then — "  His  eyes 
lighted  up. 

"Then  what?"  asked  Norman. 

"  Then  immortality — in  the  body.  Eternal  youth 
and  health.  A  body  that  is  renewable  much  as  any  of 
our  inanimate  machines  of  the  factory  is  renewable. 
Why  not?  So  far  as  we  know,  no  living  thing  ever 
dies  except  by  violence.  Disease — old  age — they  are 
quite  as  much  violence  as  the  knife  and  the  bullet.  What 
science  can  now  do  with  these  '  worms,'  as  my  daughter 
calls  them — that  it  will  be  able  to  do  with  the  higher 
organisms." 

"  And  the  world  would  soon  be  jammed  to  the  last 
acre,"  objected  Norman. 

Hallowell  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Not  at  all. 
194 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


There  will  be  no  necessity  to  create  new  people,  except 
to  take  the  place  of  those  who  may  be  accidentally  ob 
literated." 

"  But  the  world  is  dying — the  earth,  itself,  I  mean." 

"  True.  But  science  may  learn  how  to  arrest  that 
cooling  process — or  to  adapt  man  to  it.  Or,  it  may 
be  that  when  the  world  ceases  to  be  inhabitable  we  shall 
have  learned  how  to  cross  the  star  spaces,  as  I  think 
I've  suggested  before.  Then — we  should  simply  find  a 
planet  in  its  youth  somewhere,  and  migrate  to  it,  as  a 
man  now  moves  to  a  new  house  when  the  old  ceases 
to  please  him." 

"  That  is  a  long  flight  of  the  fancy,"  said  Norman. 

"  Long — but  no  stronger  than  the  telegraph  or  the 
telephone.  The  trouble  with  us  is  that  we  have  been 
long  stupefied  by  the  ignorant  theological  ideas  of  the 
universe — ideas  that  have  come  down  to  us  from  the 
childhood  of  the  race.  We  haven't  got  used  to  the  new 
era — the  scientific  era.  And  that  is  natural.  Why, 
until  less  than  three  generations  ago  there  was  really 
no  such  thing  as  science." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  admitted  Norman. 
"  We  certainly  have  got  on  very  fast  in  those  three 
generations." 

"  Rather  fast.  Not  so  fast,  however,  as  we  shall 
in  the  next  three.  Science — chemistry — is  going  speed 
ily  to  change  all  the  conditions  of  life  because  it  will  turn 
topsy-turvy  all  the  ways  of  producing  things — food, 

195 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


clothing,  shelter.  Less  than  two  generations  ago  men 
lived  much  as  they  had  for  thousands  of  years.  But 
it's  very  different  to-day.  It  will  be  inconceivably  dif 
ferent  to-morrow." 

Norman  could  not  get  these  ideas  out  of  his  brain. 
He  began  to  understand  why  Hallowell  cared  nothing 
about  the  active  life  of  the  day — about  its  religion,  poli 
tics,  modes  of  labor,  its  habits  of  one  creature  preying 
upon  another.  To-morrow,  not  religion,  not  politics, 
but  chemistry,  not  priests  nor  politicians,  but  chemists, 
would  change  all  that — and  change  it  by  the  only  meth 
ods  that  compel.  An  abstract  idea  of  liberty  or  justice 
can  be  rejected,  evaded,  nullified.  But  a  telephone,  a 
steam  engine,  a  mode  of  prolonging  life — those  realiza 
tions  of  ideas  compel. 

When  Dorothy  came,  Norman  went  into  the  garden 
with  her  in  a  frame  of  mind  so  different  from  any  he 
had  ever  before  experienced  that  he  scarcely  recognized 
himself.  As  the  influence  of  the  father's  glowing  imag 
ination  of  genius  waned  before  the  daughter's  physical 
loveliness  and  enchantment  for  him,  he  said  to  himself, 
"  I'll  keep  away  from  him."  Why?  He  did  not  permit 
himself  to  go  on  to  examine  into  his  reasons.  But  he 
could  not  conceal  them  from  himself  quickly  enough 
to  hide  the  knowledge  that  they  were  moral. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  to-day  ?  "  said  Dor 
othy.  "You  are  not  a  bit  interesting." 

"  Interested,  you  mean,"  he  said  with  a  smile  of 
196  > 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


raillery,  for  he  had  long  since  discovered  that  she  was 
not  without  the  feminine  vanity  that  commands  the 
centering  of  all  interest  in  the  woman  herself  and  re 
sents  any  wandering  of  thought  as  a  slur  upon  her 
own  powers  of  fascination. 

"  Well,  interested  then,"  said  she.  "  You  are  think 
ing  about  something  else." 

"  Not  now,"  he  assured  her. 

But  he  left  early.  No  sooner  had  he  got  away  from 
the  house  than  the  scientific  dreaming  vanished  and  he 
wished  himself  back  with  her  again — back  where  every 
glance  at  her  gave  him  the  most  exquisite  sensations. 
And  when  he  came  the  following  day  he  apparently  had 
once  more  restored  her  father  to  his  proper  place  of  a 
nonessential.  All  that  definitely  remained  of  the  day 
before's  impression  was  a  certain  satisfaction  that  he 
was  aiding  with  his  money  an  enterprise  of  greater 
value  and  of  less  questionable  character  than  merely  his 
own  project.  But  the  powerful  influences  upon  our  life 
and  conduct  are  rarely  direct  and  definite.  He,  quite 
unconsciously,  had  a  wholly  different  feeling  about  Dor 
othy  because  of  her  father,  because  of  what  his  new 
knowledge  of  and  respect  for  her  father  had  revealed 
and  would  continue  to  reveal  to  him  as  to  the  girl  her 
self — her  training,  her  inheritance,  her  character  that 
could  not  but  be  touched  with  the  splendor  of  the  father's 
noble  genius.  And  long  afterward,  when  the  father  as 
a  distinct  personality  had  been  almost  forgotten,  Nor- 

197 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


man  was  still,  altogether  unconsciously,  influenced  by 
him — powerfully,  perhaps  decisively  influenced.  Nor 
man  had  no  notion  of  it,  but  ever  after  that  talk  in  the 
laboratory,  Dorothy  Hallowell  was  to  him  Newton  Hal- 
lowell's  daughter. 

When  he  came  the  following  day,  with  his  original 
purposes  and  plans  once  more  intact,  as  he  thought,  he 
found  that  she  had  made  more  of  a  toilet  than  usual, 
had  devised  a  new  way  of  doing  her  hair  that  enabled 
him  to  hang  a  highly  prized  addition  in  his  memory  gal 
lery  of  ^idely  varied  portraits  of  her. 

The  afternoon  was  warm.  They  sat  under  a  big  old 
tree  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  He  saw  that  she  was 
much  disturbed — and  that  it  had  to  do  with  him.  From 
time  to  time  she  looked  at  him,  studying  his  face  when 
she  thought  herself  unobserved.  As  he  had  learned  that 
it  is  never  wise  to  open  up  the  disagreeable,  he  waited. 
After  making  several  futile  efforts  at  conversation,  she 
abruptly  said: 

66 1  saw  Mr.  Tetlow  this  morning — in  Twenty-third 
Street.  I  was  coming  out  of  a  chemical  supplies  store 
where  father  had  sent  me." 

She  paused.  But  Norman  did  not  help  her.  He 
continued  to  wait. 

"  He — Mr.  Tetlow — acted  very  strangely,"  she  went 
on.  "I  spoke  to  him.  He  stared  at  me  as  if  he  weren't 
going  to  speak — as  if  I  weren't  fit  to  speak  to." 

"Oh!"  said  Norman. 

198 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Then  he  came  hurrying  after  me.  And  he  said, 
'  Do  you  know  that  Norman  is  to  be  married  in  two 
weeks?'" 

"  So !  "  said  Norman. 

"  And  I  said,  '  What  of  it  ?  How  does  that  inter 
est  me?'" 

"  It  didn't  interest  you?  " 

"  I  was  surprised  that  you  hadn't  spoken  of  it," 
replied  she.  "  But  I  was  more  interested  in  Mr.  Tet- 
low's  manner.  What  do  you  think  he  said  next?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  said  Norman. 

"  Why — that  I  was  even  more  shameless  than  he 
thought.  He  said : '  Oh,  I  know  all  about  you.  I  found 
out  by  accident.  I  shan't  tell  anyone,  for  I  can't  help 
loving  you  still.  But  it  has  killed  my  belief  in  woman 
to  find  out  that  you  would  sell  yourself.'  " 

She  was  looking  at  Norman  with  eyes  large  and 
grave.  "  And  what  did  you  say  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  didn't  say  anything.  I  looked  at  him  as  if  he 
weren't  there  and  started  on.  Then  he  said,  '  When 
Norman  abandons  you,  as  he  soon  will,  you  can  count 
on  me,  if  you  need  a  friend.' ' 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Norman  said,  "  And 
that  was  all?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  she. 

Another  pause.  Norman  said  musingly :  "  Poor 
Tetlow !  I've  not  seen  him  since  he  went  away  to 
Bermuda — at  least  he  said  he  was  going  there.  One 

199 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


day  he  sent  the  firm  a  formal  letter  of  resignation.   .   .  . 
Poor  Tetlow !    Do  you  regret  not  having  married  him  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  marry  a  man  I  didn't  love."  She  looked 
at  him  with  sweet  friendly  eyes.  "  I  couldn't  even 
marry  you,  much  as  I  like  you." 

Norman  laughed — a  dismal  attempt  at  ease  and 
raillery. 

"  When  he  told  me  about  your  marrying,"  she  went 
on,  "  I  knew  how  I  felt  about  you.  For  I  was  not  a 
bit  jealous.  Why  haven't  you  ever  said  anything 
about  it?" 

He  disregarded  this.  He  leaned  forward  and  with 
curious  deliberateness  took  her  hand.  She  let  it  lie 
gently  in  his.  He  put  his  arm  round  her  and  drew 
her  close  to  him.  She  did  not  resist.  He  kissed  her 
upturned  face,  kissed  her  upon  the  lips.  She  remained 
passive,  looking  at  him  with  calm  eyes. 

"  Kiss  me,"  he  said. 

She  kissed  him  —  without  hesitation  and  without 
warmth. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  can't  understand." 

"Understand  what?" 

"  Why  you  should  wish  to  kiss  me  when  you  love 
another  woman.  What  would  she  say  if  she  knew?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  And  I  rather  think  I  don't 
care.  You  are  the  only  person  on  earth  that  inter 
ests  me." 

200 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Then  why  are  you  marrying  ?  " 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  that.  Let's  talk  about  our 
selves."  He  clasped  her  passionately,  kissed  her  at  first 
with  self-restraint,  then  in  a  kind  of  frenzy.  "  How 
can  you  be  so  cruel !  "  he  cried.  "  Are  you  utterly 
cold?  " 

"  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  said. 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  There's  no  reason.  I — just  don't.  I've  sometimes 
thought  perhaps  it  was  because  you  don't  love  me." 

"  Good  God,  Dorothy !  What  do  you  want  me  to 
say  or  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  she  calmly.  "  You  asked  me 
why  I  didn't  love  you,  and  I  was  trying  to  explain. 
I  don't  want  anything  more  than  I'm  getting.  I  am 
content — aren't  you  ?  " 

"Content!"  He  laughed  sardonically.  "As  well 
ask  Tantalus  if  he  is  content,  with  the  water  always 
before  his  eyes  and  always  out  of  reach.  I  want  you 
— all  you  have  to  give.  I  couldn't  be  content  with  less." 

"  You  ought  not  to  talk  to  me  this  way,"  she  re 
proved  gently,  "  when  you  are  engaged." 

He  flung  her  hand  into  her  lap.  "  You  are  making 
a  fool  of  me.  And  I  don't  wonder.  I've  invited  it. 
Surely,  never  since  man  was  created  has  there  been 
such  another  ass  as  I."  He  drew  her  to  her  feet,  seized 
her  roughly  by  the  shoulders.  "  When  are  you  coming 
to  your  senses?  "  he  demanded. 

201 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"What  do  you  mean?"  she  inquired,  in  her  child 
like  puzzled  way. 

He  shook  her,  kissed  her  violently,  held  her  at 
arm's  length.  "  Do  you  think  it  wise  to  trifle  with 
me?"  he  asked.  "Don't  your  good  sense  tell  you 
there's  a  limit  even  to  such  folly  as  mine?  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  asked  pathetically. 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  I  can't  give  you  what  I  haven't 
got  to  give." 

"  No,"  he  cried.  "  But  I  want  what  you  have  got 
to  give." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  Really,  I  haven't,  Mr. 
Norman." 

He  eyed  her  with  cynical  amused  suspicion.  "  Why 
did  you  call  me  Mr.  Norman  just  then?  Usually  you 
don't  call  me  at  all.  It's  been  weeks  since  you  have 
called  me  Mister.  Was  your  doing  it  just  then  one  of 
those  subtle,  adroit,  timely  tricks  of  yours?  " 

She  was  the  picture  of  puzzled  innocence.  "  I  don't 
understand,"  she  said. 

"  Well — perhaps  you  don't,"  said  he  doubtfully. 
"  At  any  rate,  don't  call  me  Mr.  Norman.  Call  me 
Fred." 

"  I  can't.  It  isn't  natural.  You  seem  Mister  to 
me.  I  always  think  of  you  as  Mr.  Norman." 

"That's  it.     And  it  must  stop!" 

She  smiled  with  innocent  gayety.  "  Very  well — 
Fred.  .  .  .  Fred.  .  .  .  Now  that  I've  said  it,  I  don't  find 

202 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


it  strange."  She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  be 
tween  appeal  and  mockery.  "  If  you'd  only  let  me  get 
acquainted  with  you.  But  you  don't.  You  make  me 
feel  that  I've  got  to  be  careful  with  you — that  I  must 
be  on  my  guard.  I  don't  know  against  what — for  you 
are  certainly  the  very  best  friend  that  I've  ever  had — 
the  only  real  friend." 

He  frowned  and  bit  his  lip — and  felt  uncomfortable, 
though  he  protested  to  himself  that  he  was  simply  irri 
tated  at  her  slyness.  Yes,  it  must  be  slyness. 

"  So,"  she  went  on,  "  there's  no  reason  for  being 
on  guard.  Still,  I  feel  that  way."  She  looked  at  him 
with  sweet  gravity.  "  Perhaps  I  shouldn't  if  you  didn't 
talk  about  love  to  me  and  kiss  me  in  a  way  I  feel  you've 
no  right  to." 

Again  he  laid  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders.  This 
time  he  gazed  angrily  into  her  eyes.  "  Are  you  a  fool? 
Or  are  you  making  a  fool  of  me  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  can't 
decide  which." 

"  I  certainly  am  very  foolish,"  was  her  apologetic 
answer.  "  I  don't  know  a  lot  of  things,  like  you  and 
father.  I'm  only  a  girl." 

And  he  had  the  maddening  sense  of  being  baffled 
again — of  having  got  nowhere,  of  having  demonstrated 
afresh  to  himself  and  to  her  his  own  weakness  where  she 
was  concerned.  What  unbelievable  weakness!  Had 
there  ever  been  such  another  case?  Yes,  there  must 
have  been.  How  little  he  had  known  of  the  possibil- 

203 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ities  of  the  relations  of  men  and  women — he  who  had 
prided  himself  on  knowing  all! 

She  said,  "  You  are  going  to  marry?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  replied  he  sourly. 

"  Are  you  worried  about  the  expense?  Is  it  costing 
you  too  much,  this  helping  father?  Are  you  sorry  you 
went  into  it  ?  " 

He  was  silent. 

"  You  are  sorry  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  feel  that 
you  are  wasting  your  money  ?  " 

His  generosity  forbade  him  to  keep  up  the  pretense 
that  might  aid  him  in  his  project.  "  No,"  he  said 
hastily.  "  No,  indeed.  This  expense — it's  nothing." 
He  flushed,  hung  his  head  in  shame  before  his  own 
weakness,  as  he  added,  in  complete  surrender,  "  I'm  very 
glad  to  be  helping  your  father." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be ! "  she  cried  triumphantly. 
"  I  knew  it !  "  And  she  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck 
and  kissed  him. 

"  That's  better! "  he  said  with  a  foolishly  delighted 
laugh.  "  I  believe  we  are  beginning  to  get  acquainted." 

"  Yes,  indeed.     I  feel  quite  different  already." 

u  I  hoped  so.     You  are  coming  to  your  senses  ?  " 

"Perhaps.  Only — "  She  laid  a  beautiful  white 
pleading  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  gazed  earnestly 
into  his  eyes — "  please  don't  frighten  me  with  that  talk 
— and  those  other  kisses." 

He  looked  at  her  uncertainly.  "  Come  round  in 
204 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


your  own  way,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  don't  want  to 
hurry  you.  I  suppose  every  bird  has  its  own  way  of 
dropping  from  a  perch." 

"You  don't  like  my  way?"  she  inquired. 

It  was  said  archly  but  also  in  the  way  that  always 
made  him  vaguely  uneasy,  made  him  feel  like  one  facing 
a  mystery  which  should  be  explored  cautiously.  "  It 
is  graceful,"  he  admitted,  with  a  smile  since  he  could 
not  venture  to  frown.  "  Graceful — but  slow." 

She  laughed — and  he  could  not  but  feel  that  the 
greater  laughter  in  her  too  innocent  eyes  was  directed 
at  him.  She  talked  of  other  things — and  he  let  her — 
charmed,  yet  cursing  his  folly,  his  slavery,  the  while. 


MANY  a  time  he  had  pitied  a  woman  for  letting  him 
get  away  from  her,  when  she  obviously  wished  to  hold 
him  and  failed  solely  because  she  did  not  understand 
her  business.  Like  every  other  man,  he  no  sooner  began 
to  be  attracted  by  a  woman  than  he  began  to  invest  her 
with  a  mystery  and  awe  which  she  either  could  dis 
sipate  by  forcing  him  to  see  the  truth  of  her  com- 
monplaceness  or  could  increase  into  a  power  that  would 
enslave  him  by  keeping  him  agitated  and  interested  and 
ever  satisfied  yet  ever  baffled.  But  no  woman  had  shown 
this  supreme  skill  in  the  art  of  love — until  Dorothy 
Hallowell.  She  exasperated  him.  She  fascinated  him. 
She  kept  him  so  restless  that  his  professional  work  was 
all  but  neglected.  Was  it  her  skill?  Was  it  her  folly? 
Was  she  simply  leading  him  on  and  on,  guided  blindly 
by  woman's  instinct  to  get  as  much  as  she  could  and 
to  give  as  little  as  she  dared?  Or  was  she  protected 
by  a  real  indifference  to  him — the  strongest,  indeed  the 
only  invulnerable  armor  a  woman  can  wear?  Was  she 
protecting  herself?  Or  was  it  merely  that  he,  weak 
ened  by  his  infatuation,  was  doing  the  protecting  for 
her? 

206 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Beside  these  distracting  questions,  the  once  all-im 
portant  matter  of  professional  and  worldly  ambition 
seemed  not  worth  troubling  about.  They  even  so  vexed 
him  that  he  had  become  profoundly  indifferent  as  to 
Josephine.  He  saw  her  rarely.  When  they  were  alone 
he  either  talked  neutral  subjects  or  sat  almost  mute, 
hardly  conscious  of  her  presence.  He  received  her 
efforts  at  the  customary  caressings  with  such  stolidity 
that  she  soon  ceased  to  annoy  him.  They  reduced  their 
outward  show  of  affection  to  a  kiss  when  they  met,  an 
other  when  they  separated.  He  was  tired — always  tired 
— worn  out — half  sick — harassed  by  business  concerns. 
He  did  not  trouble  himself  about  whether  his  listless  ex 
cuses  would  be  accepted  or  not.  He  did  not  care  what 
she  thought — or  might  think — or  might  do. 

Josephine  was  typical  of  the  women  of  the  com 
fortable  class.  For  them  the  fundamentally  vital  mat 
ters  of  life — the  profoundly  harassing  questions  of  food, 
clothing,  and  shelter — are  arranged  and  settled.  What 
is  there  left  to  occupy  their  minds  ?  Little  but  the  idle 
emotions  they  manufacture  and  spread  foglike  over 
their  true  natures  to  hide  the  barrenness,  the  monotony. 
They  fool  with  phrases  about  art  or  love  or  religion 
or  charity — for  none  of  those  things  can  be  vivid  real 
ities  to  those  who  are  swathed  and  stupefied  in  a  luxury 
they  have  not  to  take  the  least  thought  to  provide  for 
themselves.  Like  all  those  women,  Josephine  fancied 
herself  complex — fancied  she  was  a  person  of  variety 

207 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  of  depth  because  she  repeated  with  a  slight  change 
of  wording  the  things  she  read  in  clever  books  or  heard 
from  clever  men.  There  seemed  to  Norman  to  be  small 
enough  originality,  personality,  to  the  ordinary  man 
of  the  comfortable  class;  but  there  was  some,  because 
his  necessity  of  struggling  with  and  against  his  fellow 
men  in  the  several  arenas  of  active  life  compelled  him  to 
be  at  least  a  little  of  a  person.  In  the  women  there 
seemed  nothing  at  all — not  even  in  Josephine.  When 
he  listened  to  her,  when  he  thought  of  her,  now — he 
was  calmly  critical.  He  judged  her  as  a  human  speci 
men — judged  much  as  would  have  old  Newton  Hallo  well 
to  whom  the  whole  world  was  mere  laboratory. 

She  bored  him  now — and  he  made  no  effort  beyond 
bare  politeness  to  conceal  the  fact  from  her.  The  situa 
tion  was  saved  from  becoming  intolerable  by  that  uni 
versal  saver  of  intolerable  situations,  vanity.  She  had 
the  ordinary  human  vanity.  In  addition,  she  had  the 
peculiar  vanity  of  woman,  the  creation  of  man's  flat 
teries  lavished  upon  the  sex  he  alternately  serves  and 
spurns.  In  further  addition,  she  had  the  vanity  of  her 
class — the  comfortable  class  that  feels  superior  to  the 
mass  of  mankind  in  fortune,  in  intellect,  in  taste,  in 
everything  desirable.  Heaped  upon  all  these  vanities 
was  her  vanity  of  high  social  rank — and  atop  the  whole 
her  vanity  of  great  wealth.  None  but  the  sweetest  and 
simplest  of  human  beings  can  stand  up  and  remain 
human  under  such  a  weight  as  this.  If  we  are  at  all 

208 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


fair  in  our  judgments  of  our  fellow  men,  we  marvel 
that  the  triumphant  class — especially  the  women,  whose 
point  of  view  is  never  corrected  by  the  experiences  of 
practical  life — are  not  more  arrogant,  more  absurdly 
forgetful  of  the  oneness  and  the  feebleness  of  humanity. 

Josephine  was  by  nature  one  of  the  sweet  and  simple 
souls.  And  her  love  for  Norman,  after  the  habit  of 
genuine  love,  had  destroyed  all  the  instinct  of  coquetry. 
The  woman — or,  the  man — has  to  be  indeed  interest 
ing,  indeed  an  individuality,  to  remain  interesting  when 
sincerely  in  love,  and  so  elevated  above  the  petty  but 
potent  sex  trickeries.  Josephine,  deeply  in  love,  was 
showing  herself  to  Norman  in  her  undisguised  natural 
sweet  simplicity — and  monotony.  But,  while  men  ad 
mire  and  reverence  a  sweet  and  simple  feminine  soul — 
and  love  her  in  plays  and  between  the  covers  of  a  book 
and  when  she  is  talking  highfaluting  abstractions  of 
morality — and  wax  wroth  with  any  other  man  who 
ignores  or  neglects  her — they  do  not  in  their  own  per 
sons  become  infatuated  with  her.  Passion  is  too  much 
given  to  moods  for  that ;  it  has  a  morbid  craving  for 
variety,  for  the  mysterious  and  the  baffling. 

The  only  thing  that  saves  the  race  from  ruin 
through  passion  is  the  rarity  of  those  by  nature  or  by 
art  expert  in  using  it.  Norman  felt  that  he  was  paying 
the  penalty  for  his  persistent  search  for  this  rarity ;  one 
of  the  basest  tricks  of  destiny  upon  man  is  to  give  him 
what  he  wants — wealth,  or  fame,  or  power,  or  the  wom- 

209 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


an  who  enslaves.  Norman  felt  that  destiny  had  suddenly 
revealed  its  resolve  to  destroy  him  by  giving  him  not 
one  of  the  things  he  wanted,  but  all. 

The  marriage  was  not  quite  two  weeks  away.  About 
the  time  that  the  ordinary  plausible  excuses  for  Nor 
man's  neglect,  his  abstraction,  his  seeming  indifference 
were  exhausted,  Josephine's  vanity  came  forward  to  ex 
plain  everything  to  her,  all  to  her  own  glory.  As  the 
elysian  hour  approached — so  vanity  assured  her — the 
man  who  loved  her  as  her  complex  soul  and  many  phys 
ical  and  social  advantages  deserved  was  overcome  with 
that  shy  terror  of  which  she  had  read  in  the  poets  and 
the  novelists.  A  large  income,  fashionable  attire  and 
surroundings,  a  carriage  and  a  maid — these  things  gave 
a  woman  a  subtle  and  superior  intellect  and  soul.  How? 
Why?  No  one  knew.  But  everyone  admitted,  indeed 
saw,  the  truth.  Further,  these  beings — these  great 
ladies — -according  to  all  the  accredited  poets,  novelists, 
and  other  final  authorities  upon  life — always  inspired 
the  most  awed  and  worshipful  and  diffident  feelings  in 
their  lovers.  Therefore,  she — the  great  lady — was  get 
ting  but  her  due.  She  would  have  liked  something  else 
— something  common  and  human — much  better.  But, 
having  always  led  her  life  as  the  conventions  dictated, 
never  as  the  common  human  heart  yearned,  she  had  no 
keen  sense  of  dissatisfaction  to  rouse  her  to  revolt  and 
to  question.  Also,  she  was  breathlessly  busy  with  trous 
seau  and  the  other  arrangements  for  the  grand  wedding. 

210 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


One  afternoon  she  telephoned  Norman  asking  him 
to  come  on  his  way  home  that  evening.  "  I  particularly- 
wish  to  see  you,"  she  said.  He  thought  her  voice 
sounded  rather  queer,  but  he  did  not  take  sufficient 
interest  to  speculate  about  it.  When  he  was  with  her 
in  the  small  drawing  room  on  the  second  floor,  he  noted 
that  her  eyes  were  regarding  him  strangely.  He 
thought  he  understood  why  when  she  said: 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me,  Fred  ?  " 

He  put  on  his  good-natured,  slightly  mocking  smile. 
"  I  thought  you  were  too  busy  for  that  sort  of  thing 
nowadays."  And  he  bent  and  kissed  her  waiting  lips. 
Then  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  seated  himself  on  the  sofa 
beside  her — the  sofa  at  right  angles  to  the  open  fire. 
"Well?"  he  said. 

She  gazed  into  the  fire  for  full  a  minute  before  she 
said  in  a  voice  of  constraint,  "  What  became  of  that — 
that  girl — the  Miss  Hallowell " 

She  broke  off  abruptly.  There  was  a  pause  choked 
with  those  dizzy  pulsations  that  fill  moments  of  silence 
and  strain.  Then  with  a  sob  she  flung  herself  against 
his  breast  and  buried  her  face  in  his  shoulder.  "  Don't 
answer ! "  she  cried.  "  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  I'm 
ashamed — ashamed !  " 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders.  "  But  why 
shouldn't  I  answer  ?  "  said  he  in  the  kindly  gentle  tone 
we  can  all  assume  when  a  matter  that  agitates  some  one 
else  is  wholly  indifferent  to  us. 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Because — it  was  a — a  trap,"  she  answered  hys 
terically.  "  Fred — there  was  a  man  here  this  afternoon 
— a  man  named  Tetlow.  He  got  in  only  because  he 
said  he  came  from  you." 

Norman  laughed  quietly.    "  Poor  Tetlow !  "  he  said. 

"  He  used  to  be  your  head  clerk — didn't  he?  " 

"  And  one  of  my  few  friends." 

"  He's  not  your  friend,  Fred ! "  she  cried,  sitting 
upright  and  speaking  with  energy  that  quivered  in  her 
voice  and  flashed  in  her  fine  brown  eyes.  "  He's  your 
enemy  —  a  snake  in  the  grass  —  a  malicious,  poison 
ous " 

Norman's  quiet,  even  laugh  interrupted.  "  Oh,  no," 
said  he.  "  Tetlow's  a  good  fellow.  Anything  he  said 
would  be  what  he  honestly  believed — anything  he  said 
about  me." 

"  He  pleaded  that  he  was  doing  it  for  your  good," 
she  went  on  with  scorn.  "  They  always  do — like  the 
people  that  write  father  wicked  anonymous  letters.  He 
— this  man  Tetlow — he  said  he  wanted  me  for  the  sake 
of  my  love  for  you  to  save  you  from  yourself." 

Norman  glanced  at  her  with  amused  eyes.  "  Well, 
why  don't  you?  But  then  you  are  doing  it.  You're 
marrying  me,  aren't  you  ?  " 

Again  she  put  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  "  In 
deed  I  am  I "  she  cried.  "  And  I'd  be  a  poor  sort  if  I 
let  a  sneak  shake  my  confidence  in  you." 

He  patted  her  shoulder,  and  there  was  laughter  in 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


his  voice  as  he  said,  "  But  I  never  professed  to  be 
trustworthy." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  used  to — "  She  laughed  and 
kissed  his  cheek.  "  Never  mind.  I've  heard.  But  while 
you  were  engaged  to  me — about  to  marry  me — why, 
you  simply  couldn't !  " 

"  Couldn't  what?  "  inquired  he. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  what  he  said?  " 

"  I  think  I  know.    But  do  as  you  like." 

"  Maybe  I'd  better  tell  you.  I  seem  to  want  to  get 
rid  of  it." 

"  Then  do." 

"  It  was  about  that  girl."  She  sat  upright  and 
looked  at  him  for  encouragement.  He  nodded.  She 
went  on :  "  He  said  that  if  I  asked  you,  you  would  not 
dare  deny  you  were — were — giving  her  money." 

"  Her  and  her  father." 

She  shrank,  startled.  Then  her  lips  smiled  bravely, 
and  she  said,  "  He  didn't  say  anything  about  her 
father." 

"  No.     That  was  my  own  correction  of  his  story." 

She  looked  at  him  with  wonder  and  doubt.  "  You 
aren't — domg  it,  Fred !  "  she  exclaimed. 

He  nodded.  "  Yes,  indeed."  He  looked  at  her  plac 
idly.  "Why  not?" 

"  You  are  supporting  her  ?  " 

"  If  you  wish  to  put  it  that  way,"  said  he  care 
lessly.  "  My  money  pays  the  bills — all  the  bills." 


THIS    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"Fred!" 

"  Yes?  What  is  it?  Why  are  you  so  agitated?  " 
He  studied  her  face,  then  rose,  took  a  final  pull  at  the 
cigarette,  tossed  it  in  the  fire.  "  I  must  be  going,"  he 
said,  in  a  cool,  even  voice. 

She  started  up  in  a  panic.  "  Fred !  What  do  you 
mean  ?  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

His  calm  regard  met  hers.  "  I  do  not  like — this 
sort  of  thing,"  he  said. 

"  But  surely  you'll  explain.  Surely  I'm  entitled  to 
an  explanation." 

"  Why  should  I  explain  ?  You  have  evidently  found 
an  explanation  that  satisfies  you."  He  drew  himself 
up  in  a  quiet  gesture  of  haughtiness.  "  Besides,  it  has 
never  been  my  habit  to  allow  myself  to  be  questioned  or 
to  explain  myself." 

Her  eyes  widened  with  terror.  "  Fred ! "  she 
gasped.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Precisely  what  I  say,"  said  he,  in  the  same  cool, 
inevitable  way.  "  A  man  came  to  you  with  a  story 
about  me.  You  listened.  A  sufficient  answer  to  the 
story  was  that  I  am  marrying  you.  That  answer  ap 
parently  does  not  content  you.  Very  well.  I  shall 
make  no  other." 

She  gazed  at  him  uncertainly.  She  felt  him  going 
— and  going  finally.  She  seized  him  with  desperate 
fingers,  cried :  "  I  am  content.  Oh,  Fred — don't  fright 
en  me  this  way !  " 

214 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  smiled  satirically.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  the 
scandal — because  everything  for  the  wedding  has  gone 
so  far?  " 

"  How  can  you  think  that !  "  cried  she — perhaps  too 
vigorously,  a  woman  would  have  thought. 

"  What  else  is  there  for  me  to  think  ?  You  certainly 
haven't  shown  any  consideration  for  me." 

"  But  you  told  me  yourself  that  you  were  false 
to  me." 

"Really?    When?" 

She  forgot  her  fear  in  a  gush  of  rage  rising  from 
sudden  realization  of  what  she  was  doing — of  how  le 
niently  and  weakly  and  without  pride  she  was  dealing 
with  this  man.  "  Didn't  you  admit " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  and  his  manner  might  well 
have  calmed  the  wildest  tempest  of  anger.  "  I  did  not 
admit.  I  never  admit.  I  leave  that  to  people  of  the 
sort  who  explain  and  excuse  and  apologize.  I  simply 
told  you  I  was  paying  the  expenses  of  a  family  named 
Hallowell." 

"  But  why  should  you  do  it,  Fred?  " 

His  smile  was  gently  satirical.  "  I  thought  Tetlow 
told  you  why." 

"I  don't  believe  him!" 

"  Then  why  this  excitement?  " 

One  could  understand  how  the  opposition  witnesses 
dreaded  facing  him.  "  I  don't  know  just  why,"  she 
stammered.  "  It  seemed  to  me  you  were  admitting — 

215 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


I  mean,  you  were  confirming  what  that  man  accused 
you  of." 

"  And  of  what  did  he  accuse  me  ?  I  might  say,  of 
what  do  you  accuse  me  ?  "  When  she  remained  silent 
he  went  on :  "I  am  trying  to  be  reasonable,  Josephine. 
I  am  trying  to  keep  my  temper." 

The  look  in  her  eyes — the  fear,  the  timidity — was 
a  startling  revelation  of  character — of  the  cowardice 
with  which  love  undermines  the  strongest  nature.  "  I 
know  I've  been  foolish  and  incoherent,  Fred,"  she 
pleaded.  "  But — I  love  you !  And  you  remember  how 
I  always  was  afraid  of  that  girl." 

"  Just  what  do  you  wish  to  know  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear — nothing.  I  am  not  sillily  jealous. 
I  ought  to  be  admiring  you  for  your  generosity — your 
charity." 

"  It's  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,"  said  he  with 
exasperating  deliberateness. 

She  quivered.  "Then  what  is  it?"  she  cried. 
"  You  are  driving  me  crazy  with  your  evasions."  Plead 
ingly,  "  You  must  admit  they  are  evasions." 

He  buttoned  his  coat  in  tranquil  preparation  to  de 
part.  She  instantly  took  alarm.  "  I  don't  mean  that. 
It's  my  fault,  not  asking  you  straight  out.  Fred,  tell 
me — won't  you?  But  if  you  are  too  cross  with  me, 
then — don't  tell  me."  She  laughed  nervously,  hiding 
her  submission  beneath  a  seeming  of  mocking  exaggera 
tion  of  humility.  "  I'll  be  good.  I'll  behave." 

216 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


A  man  who  admired  her  as  a  figure,  a  man  who  liked 
her,  a  man  who  had  no  feeling  for  her  beyond  the  gen 
eral  human  feeling  of  wishing  well  pretty  nearly  every 
body — in  brief,  any  man  but  one  who  had  loved  her 
and  had  gotten  over  it  would  have  deeply  pitied  and 
sympathized  with  her.  Fred  Norman  said,  his  look  and 
his  tone  coolly  calm : 

"  I  am  backing  Mr.  Hallowell  in  a  company  for 
which  he  is  doing  chemical  research  work.  We  are 
hatching  eggs,  out  of  the  shell,  so  to  speak.  Also  we 
are  aging  and  rejuvenating  arthropods  and  the  like.  So 
far  we  have  declared  no  dividends.  But  we  have  hopes." 

She  gave  a  hysterical  sob  of  relief.  "  Then  it's  only 
business — not  the  girl  at  all !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  the  girl,  too,"  replied  he.  "  She's 
an  officer  of  the  company.  In  fact,  it  was  to  make  a 
place  for  her  that  I  went  into  the  enterprise  originally." 
With  an  engaging  air  of  frankness  he  inquired,  "  Any 
thing  more  ?  " 

She  was  gazing  soberly,  almost  somberly,  into  the 
fire.  "  You'll  not  be  offended  if  I  ask  you  one  ques 
tion?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Is  there  anything  between  you  and — her  ?  " 

"  You  mean,  am  I  having  an  affair  with  her?  " 

She  hung  her  head,  but  managed  to  make  a  slight 
nod  of  assent. 

He  laughed,  "  No."  He  laughed  again.  "  No— 
217 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


not  thus  far,  my  dear."  He  laughed  a  third  time,  with 
still  stronger  and  stranger  mockery.  "  She  congratu 
lated  me  on  my  engagement  with  a  sincerity  that  would 
have  piqued  a  man  who  was  interested  in  her." 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  Josephine  said.  "  What 
I've  just  been  feeling  and  saying  and  putting  you 
through — it's  beneath  both  of  us.  I  suppose  a  woman 
— no  woman — can  help  being  nasty  where  another  wom 
an  is  concerned." 

With  his  satirical  good-humored  smile,  "  I  don't  in 
the  least  blame  you." 

"  And  you'll  not  think  less  of  me  for  giving  way 
to  a  thing  so  vulgar  ?  " 

He  kissed  her  with  a  carelessness  that  made  her 
wince-  But  she  felt  that  she  deserved  it — and  was 
gratefuL  He  said :  "  Why  don't  you  go  over  and  see 
for  yourself?  No  doubt  Tetlow  gave  you  the  address 
— and  no  doubt  you  have  remembered  it." 

She  colored  and  hastily  turned  her  head.  "  Don't 
punish  me,"  she  pleaded. 

"Punish  you?  What  nonsense!  .  .  .  Do  you  want 
me  to  take  you  over?  The  laboratory  would  interest 
you — and  Miss  Hallowell  is  lovelier  than  ever.  She 
has  an  easier  life  now.  Office  work  wears  on  women 
terribly." 

Josephine  looked  at  him  with  a  beautiful  smile  of 
love  and  trust.  "  You  wish  to  be  sure  I'm  cured.  Well, 
can't  you  see  that  I  am?  " 

218 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be.  I've  said  nothing 
one  way  or  the  other." 

She  laughed  gayly.  "  You  can't  tempt  me.  I'm 
really  cured.  I  think  the  only  reason  I  had  the  attack 
was  because  Mr.  Tetlow  so  evidently  believed  he  was 
speaking  the  truth." 

"  No  doubt  he  did  think  he  was.  I'm  sure,  in  the 
same  circumstances,  I'd  think  of  anyone  else  just  what 
he  thinks  of  me." 

"  Then  why  do  you  do  it,  Fred  ?  "  urged  she  with 
ill-concealed  eagerness.  "  It  isn't  fair  to  the  girl,  is 
it?" 

"  No  one  but  you  and  Tetlow  knows  I'm  doing  it." 

"  You're  mistaken  there,  dear.  Tetlow  says  a  great 
many  people  down  town  are  talking  about  it — that  they 
say  you  go  almost  every  day  to  Jersey  City  to  see  her. 
He  accuses  you  of  having  ruined  her  reputation.  He 
says  she  is  quite  innocent.  He  blames  the  whole  thing 
upon  you." 

Norman,  standing  with  arms  folded  upon  his  broad 
chest,  was  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 

"  You  don't  mind  my  telling  you  these  things  ?  "  she 
said  anxiously.  "  Of  course,  I  know  they  are  lies " 

"  So  everyone  is  talking  about  it,"  interrupted  he, 
so  absorbed  that  he  had  not  heard  her. 

"  You  don't  realize  how  conspicuous  you  are." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  it  can't  be 
helped." 

8  219 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You  can't  afford  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  scandal,"  she 
ventured,  "  or  to  injure  a  poor  little  creature —  I'm 
afraid  you'll  have  to — to  stop  it." 

"  Stop  it."  His  eyes  gleamed  with  mirth  and  some 
thing  else.  "  It  isn't  my  habit  to  heed  gossip." 

"  But  think  of  her,  Fred!" 

He  smiled  ironically.  "  What  a  generous,  thought 
ful  dear  you  are !  "  said  he. 

She  blushed.  "  I'll  admit  I  don't  like  it.  I'm  not 
jealous — but  I  wish  you  weren't  doing  it." 

"  So  do  I ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  sudden  energy  that 
astonished  and  disquieted  her.  "  So  do  I !  But  since 
it  can't  be  helped  I  shall  go  on." 

Never  had  she  respected  him  so  profoundly.  For 
the  first  time  she  had  measured  strength  with  him  and 
had  been  beaten  and  routed.  She  fancied  herself  enor 
mously  proud;  for  she  labored  under  the  common  de 
lusion  which  mistakes  for  pride  the  silly  vanity  of  class, 
or  birth,  or  wealth,  or  position.  She  had  imagined  she 
would  never  lower  that  cherished  pride  of  hers  to  any 
man.  And  she  had  lowered  it  into  the  dust.  No  wonder 
women  had  loved  him,  she  said  to  herself;  couldn't  he 
do  with  them,  even  the  haughtiest  of  them,  precisely  as 
he  pleased?  He  had  not  tried  to  calm,  much  less  to 
end  her  jealousy;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  let  it  flame 
as  high  as  it  would,  had  urged  it  higher.  And  she  did 
not  dare  ask  him,  even  as  a  loving  concession  to  her 
weakness,  to  give  up  an  affair  upon  which  everybody 

220 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


was  putting  the  natural  worst  possible  construction! 
On  the  contrary,  she  had  given  him  leave  to  go  on — 
because  she  feared — yes,  knew — that  if  she  tried  to 
interfere  he  would  take  it  as  evidence  that  they  could 
not  get  on  together.  What  a  man ! 

But  there  was  more  to  come  that  day.  As  he  was 
finishing  dressing  for  dinner  his  sister  Ursula  knocked. 
"  May  I  come,  Frederick  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Sure,"  he  cried.     "  I'm  fixing  my  tie." 

Ursula,  in  a  gown  that  displayed  the  last  possible 
— many  of  the  homelier  women  said  impossible — inch  of 
her  beautiful  shoulders,  came  strolling  sinuously  in  and 
seated  herself  on  the  arm  of  the  divan.  She  watched 
him,  in  his  evening  shirt,  as  he  with  much  struggling 
did  his  tie.  "  How  young  you  do  look,  Fred ! "  said 
she.  "  Especially  in  just  that  much  clothes.  Not  a 
day  over  thirty." 

"  I'm  not  exactly  a  nonogenarian,"  retorted  he. 

66  But  usually  your  face — in  spite  of  its  smoothness 
and  no  wrinkles — has  a  kind  of  an  old  young — or  do 
I  mean  young  old? — look.  You've  led  such  a  serious 
life." 

"  Urn.     That's  the  devil  of  it." 

'*  You're  looking  particularly  young  to-night." 

"  Same  to  you,  Urse." 

"  No,  I'm  not  bad  for  thirty-four.  People  half 
believe  me  when  I  say  I'm  twenty-nine."  She  glanced 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


complacently  down  at  her  softly  glistening  shoulders. 
"  I've  still  got  my  skin." 

"  And  a  mighty  good  one  it  is.  Best  I  ever  saw — 
except  one." 

She  reflected  a  moment,  then  smiled.  "  I  know  it 
isn't  Josephine's.  Hers  is  good  but  not  notable.  Eyes 
and  teeth  are  her  strongholds.  I  suppose  it's — the 
other  lady's." 

"  Exactly." 

"  I  mean  the  one  in  Jersey  City." 

He  went  on  brushing  his  hair  with  not  a  glance  at 
the  bomb  she  had  exploded  under  his  very  nose. 

"  You're  a  cool  one,"  she  said  admiringly. 

"Cool?" 

"  I  thought  you'd  jump.  I'm  sure  you  never 
dreamed  I  knew." 

He  slid  into  his  white  waistcoat  and  began  to  but 
ton  it. 

"  Though  you  might  know  I'd  find  out,"  she  went 
on,  "  when  everyone's  talking." 

"  Everyone's  always  talking,"  said  he  indifferently. 

"  And  they  rattle  on  to  beat  the  band  when  they 
get  a  chance  at  a  man  like  you.  Do  you  know  what 
they're  saying?  " 

"  Certainly.  Loosen  these  straps  in  the  back  of  my 
waistcoat — the  upper  ones,  won't  you?" 

As  she  fussed  with  the  buckles  she  said :  "  But  you 
don't  know  that  they  say  you're  going  to  pieces 

222 


"She  glanced  complacently  down  at  her  softly  glistening 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


neglecting  your  cases — keeping  away  from  your  office 
— wasting  about  half  of  your  day  with  your  lady  love. 
They  say  that  you  have  gone  stark  mad — that  you  are 
rushing  to  ruin." 

"  A  little  looser.    That's  better.    Thanks." 

"  And  everyone's  wondering  when  Josephine  will 
hear  and  go  on  the  rampage.  She's  so  proud  and  so 
stuck  on  herself  that  they're  betting  she'll  give  you 
the  bounce." 

"  Well — "  getting  into  his  coat — "  you'd  delight  in 
that.  For  you  don't  like  her." 

"  Oh — so — so,"  replied  Ursula.  "  She's  all  right, 
as  women  go.  You  know  we  women  don't  ever  think 
any  too  well  of  each  other.  We're  '  on.'  Now,  I'm 
frank  to  admit  I'm  not  worth  the  powder  to  blow  me 
up.  I  can't  do  anything  worth  doing.  I  don't  know 
anything  worth  knowing — except  how  to  dress  and  make 
a  fool  of  an  occasional  man.  I'm  not  a  good  house 
keeper,  nor  a  good  wife — and  I'd  as  lief  go  to  jail  for 
two  years  as  have  a  baby.  But  7  admit  I'm  n.  g. 
Most  women  are  as  poor  excuses  as  I  am,  yet  they 
think  they're  grand!  " 

Norman,  standing  before  his  sister  and  smiling  mys 
teriously,  said :  "  My  dear  Urse,  let  me  give  you  a  great 
truth  in  a  sentence.  The  value  of  anything  is  not  its 
value  to  itself  or  in  itself,  but  its  value  to  some  one  else. 
A  woman — even  as  incompetent  a  person  as  you " 

"Or  Josephine." 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


" — or  Josephine — may  seem  to  some  man  to  be 
pricelessly  valuable.  And  if  she  happens  to  seem  so  to 
him,  why,  she  is  so." 

"  Meaning — Jersey  City  ?  " 

His  eyes  glittered  curiously.  "  Meaning  Jersey; 
City,"  he  said. 

A  long  silence.  Then  Ursula :  "  But  suppose 
Josephine  hears  ?  " 

He  stood  beside  the  doorway,  waiting  for  her  to 
pass  out.  His  face  expressed  nothing.  "  Let's  go 
down.  I'm  hungry.  We  were  talking  about  it  this 
afternoon." 

"You  and  Jo!" 

"  Josephine  and  I." 

"And  it's  all  right?" 

"Why  not?" 

"You  fooled  her?" 

"  I  don't  stoop  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  laughed.  "  You  rise  to  heights 
of  deception  that  would  make  anyone  else  giddy.  Oh, 
I'd  give  anything  to  have  heard." 

"  There's  nothing  to  deceive  about,"  said  he. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  can't  put  it  over  me, 
Fred.  You've  never  before  made  a  fool  of  yourself 
about  a  woman.  I'd  like  to  see  her.  I  suppose  I'd 
be  amazed.  I've  observed  that  the  women  who  do  the 
most  extraordinary  things  with  men  are  the  most  ordi 
nary  sort  of  women." 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Not  to  the  men,"  said  he  bitterly.  "  Not  while 
they're  doing  it." 

"  Does  she  seem  extraordinary  to  you — still?  " 

He  thrust  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets.  "  What 
you  heard  is  true.  I'm  letting  everything  slide — work 
— career — everything.  I  think  of  nothing  else.  Ursula, 
I'm  mad  about  her — mad !  " 

She  threw  back  her  head,  looked  at  him  admiringly. 
Never  had  she  so  utterly  worshiped  this  wonderful, 
powerful  brother  of  hers.  He  was  in  love — really — 
madly  in  love — at  last.  So  he  was  perfect !  "  How 
long  do  you  think  it  will  hold,  Fred?  "  she  said,  all 
sympathy. 

"  God  knows !  " 

"  Yet — caring  for  her  you  can  go  on  and  marry 
another  woman !  " 

He  looked  at  his  sister  cynically.  "  You  wouldn't 
have  me  marry  her,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  protested  she  hastily.  Her  pas 
sion  for  romance  did  not  carry  her  to  that  idiocy. 
"  You  couldn't.  She's  a  sort  of  working  girl — isn't 
she? — anyhow,  that  class.  No,  you  couldn't  marry 
her.  But  how  can  you  marry  another  woman?  " 

"  How  could  I  give  up  Josephine  ? — and  give  her 
up  probably  to  Bob  Culver  ?  " 

Ursula  nodded  understandingly.  "  But — what  are 
you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  Perhaps  break  it  off  when 
225 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


I  marry — if  you  can  call  it  breaking  off,  when  there's 
nothing  to  break  but — me." 

"  You  don't  mean — "  she  cried,  stopping  when  her 
tone  had  carried  her  meaning. 

He  laughed.  "  Yes — that's  the  kind  of  damn  fool 
I've  been." 

"  You  must  have  let  her  see  how  crazy  you  were 
about  her." 

"  Was  anyone  ever  able  to  hide  that  sort  of  in 
sanity?" 

Ursula  gazed  wonderingly  at  him,  drew  a  long 
breath.  "You!"  she  exclaimed.  "Of  all  men — 
you!" 

"  Let's  go  down." 

"  She  must  be  a  deep  one — dangerous,"  said  Ursula, 
furious  against  the  woman  who  was  daring  to  resist  her 
matchless  brother.  "  Fred,  I'm  wild  to  see  her.  Maybe 
I'd  see  something  that'd  help  cure  you." 

"  You  keep  out  of  it,"  he  replied,  curtly  but  not 
with  ill  humor. 

"  It  can't  last  long." 

"  It'd  do  for  me,  if  it  did." 

"  The  marriage  will  settle  everything,"  said  Ursula 
with  confidence. 

"  It's  got  to,"  said  he  grimly. 


XI 


THE  next  day  or  the  next  but  one  Dorothy  tele 
phoned  him.  He  often  called  her  up  on  one  pretext 
or  another,  or  frankly  for  no  reason  at  all  beyond  the 
overwhelming  desire  to  hear  her  voice.  But  she  had 
never  before  "  disturbed "  him.  He  had  again  and 
again  assured  her  that  he  would  not  regard  himself 
as  "  disturbed,"  no  matter  what  he  might  be  doing.  She 
would  not  have  it  so.  As  he  was  always  watching  for 
some  faint  sign  that  she  was  really  interested  in  him, 
this  call  gave  him  a  thrill  of  hope — a  specimen  of  the 
minor  absurdities  of  those  days  of  extravagant  folly. 

"  Are  you  coming  over  to-day  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Right  away,  if  you  wish." 

"  Oh,  no.     Any  time  will  do." 

"  I'll  come  at  once.    I'm  not  busy." 

"  No.  Late  this  afternoon.  Father  asked  me  to 
call  up  and  make  sure.  He  wants  to  see  you." 

«  Oh— not  you?" 

"  I'm  a  business  person,"  retorted  she.  "  I  know 
better  than  to  annoy  you,  as  I've  often  said." 

He  knew  it  was  foolish,  tiresome;  yet  he  could  not 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


resist  the  impulse  to  say,  "  Now  that  I've  heard  your 
voice  I  can't  stay  away.     I'll  come  over  to  lunch." 

Her  answering  voice  was  irritated.  "  Please  don't. 
I'm  cleaning  house.  You'd  be  in  the  way." 

He  shrank  and  quivered  like  a  boy  who  has  been 
publicly  rebuked.  "  I'll  come  when  you  say,"  he  re 
plied. 

"  Not  a  minute  before  four  o'clock." 

"  That's  a  long  time — now  you've  made  me  crazy 
to  see  you." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.     I  must  go  back  to  work." 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  he  asked,  to  detain  her. 

"  Dusting  and  polishing.  Molly  did  the  sweeping 
and  is  cleaning  windows  now." 

"  What  have  you  got  on  ?  " 

"  How  silly  you  are !  " 

"  No  one  knows  that  better  than  I.  But  I  want 
to  have  a  picture  of  you  to  look  at." 

"  I've  got  on  an  old  white  skirt  and  an  old  shirt 
waist,  both  dirty,  and  a  pair  of  tennis  shoes  that  were 
white  once  but  are  gray  now,  where  they  aren't  black. 
And  I've  got  a  pink  chiffon  rag  tied  round  my  hair." 

"  Pink  is  wonderful  when  you  wear  it." 

"  I  look  a  fright.  And  my  face  is  streaked — and 
my  arms." 

"  Oh,  you've  got  your  sleeves  rolled  up.  That's  an 
important  detail." 

"  You're  making  fun  of  me." 
228 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  No,  I'm  thinking  of  your  arms.  They  are — 
ravishing." 

"That's  quite  enough.     Good-by." 

And  she  rang  off.  He  was  used  to  her  treating 
compliment  and  flattery  from  him  in  that  fashion.  He 
could  not — or  was  it  would  not? — understand  why.  He 
had  learned  that  she  was  not  at  all  the  indifferent  and 
unaware  person  in  the  matter  of  her  physical  charms 
he  had  at  first  fancied  her.  On  the  contrary,  she  had 
more  than  her  share  of  physical  vanity — not  more  than 
was  her  right,  in  view  of  her  charms,  but  more  than 
she  could  carry  off  well.  With  many  a,  rscret  smile  he 
had  observed  that  she  thought  herself  perfect  phys 
ically.  This  did  not  repel  him;  it  never  does  repel 
a  man — when  and  so  long  as  he  is  under  the  enchant 
ment  of  the  charms  the  woman  more  or  less  exagger 
ates.  But,  while  he  had  often  seen  women  with  in 
ordinate  physical  vanity,  so  often  that  he  had  come 
to  regarding  it  as  an  essential  part  of  feminine  char 
acter,  never  before  had  he  seen  one  so  content  with 
her  own  good  opinion  of  herself  that  she  was  indiffer 
ent  to  appreciation  from  others. 

He  did  not  go  back  to  the  office  after  lunch.  Sev 
eral  important  matters  were  coming  up ;  if  he  got  within 
reach  they  might  conspire  to  make  it  impossible  for 
him  to  be  with  her  on  time.  If  his  partners,  his  clients 
knew!  He  the  important  man  of  affairs  kneeling  at 
the  feet  of  a  nobody! — and  why?  Chiefly  because  he 

£29 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


was  unable  to  convince  her  that  he  amounted  to  any 
thing.  His  folly  nauseated  him.  He  sat  in  a  corner 
in  the  dining  room  of  the  Lawyers'  Club  and  drank 
one  whisky  and  soda  after  another  and  brooded  over 
his  follies  and  his  unhappiness,  muttering  monotonously 
from  time  to  time :  "  No  wonder  she  makes  a  fool  of 
me.  I  invite  it,  I  beg  for  it,  damned  idiot  that  I  am !  " 
By  three  o'clock  he  had  drunk  enough  liquor  to  have 
dispatched  the  average  man  for  several  days.  It  had 
produced  no  effect  upon  him  beyond  possibly  a  slight 
aggravation  of  his  moodiness. 

It  took  only  twenty  minutes  to  get  from  New  York 
to  her  house.  He  set  out  at  a  few  minutes  after  three ; 
arrived  at  twenty  minutes  to  four.  As  experience  of 
her  ways  had  taught  him  that  she  was  much  less  friendly 
when  he  disobeyed  her  requests,  he  did  not  dare  go  to 
the  house,  but,  after  looking  at  it  from  a  corner  two 
blocks  away,  made  a  detour  that  would  use  up  some 
of  the  time  he  had  to  waste.  And  as  he  wandered  he 
indulged  in  his  usual  alternations  between  self -derision 
and  passion.  He  appeared  at  the  house  at  five  minutes 
to  four.  Patrick,  who  with  Molly  his  wife  looked  after 
the  domestic  affairs,  was  at  the  front  gate  gazing  down 
the  street  in  the  direction  from  which  he  always  came. 
At  sight  of  him  Pat  came  running.  Norman  quickened 
his  pace,  and  every  part  of  his  nervous  system  was  in 
turmoil. 

"  Mr.  Hallowell-— he's— dead,"  gasped  Pat. 
230 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"Dead?"  echoed  Norman. 

"  Three  quarters  of  an  hour  ago,  sir.  He  came 
from  the  lobatry,  walked  in  the  sitting  room  where  Miss 
Dorothy  was  oiling  the  furniture  and  I  was  oiling  the 
floor.  And  he  sets  down — and  he  looks  at  her — as  cool 
and  calm  as  could  be — and  he  says,  6  Dorothy,  my  child, 
I'm  dying.'  And  she  stands  up  straight  and  looks  at 
him  curious  like — just  curious  like.  And  he  says,  *  Dor 
othy,  good-by.'  And  he  shivers,  and  I  jumps  up  just 
in  time  to  catch  him  from  rolling  to  the  floor.  He 
was  dead  then — so  the  doctor  says." 

"  Dead !  "  repeated  Norman,  looking  round  vaguely. 

He  went  on  to  the  house,  Pat  walking  beside  him 
and  chattering  on  and  on — a  stream  of  words  Norman 
did  not  hear.  As  he  entered  the  open  front  door  Dor 
othy  came  down  the  stairs.  He  had  thought  he  knew 
how  white  her  skin  was.  But  he  did  not  know  until 
then.  And  from  that  ghostly  pallor  looked  the  eyes  of 
grief  beyond  tears.  He  advanced  toward  her.  But  she 
seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  an  atmosphere  of  aloofness. 
He  felt  himself  a  stranger  and  an  alien.  After  a  brief 
silence  she  said :  "  I  don't  realize  it.  I've  been  upstairs 
where  Pat  carried  him — but  I  don't  realize  it.  It  simply 
can't  be." 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  wished  to  say  to  me  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  No.  I  guess  he  felt  this  coming.  Probably  it 
came  quicker  than  he  expected.  Now  I  can  see  that 

231 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


he  hasn't  been  well  for  several  days.  But  he  would 
never  let  anything  about  illness  be  said.  He  thought 
talking  of  those  things  made  them  worse." 

"  You  have  relatives — somebody  you  wish  me  to  tele 
graph?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No  one.  Our  relatives  out 
West  are  second  cousins  or  further  away.  They  care 
nothing  about  us.  No,  I'm  all  alone." 

The  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes.  But  there  were  no 
tears  in  her  eyes,  no  forlornness  in  her  voice.  She  was 
simply  stating  a  fact.  He  said :  "  I'll  look  after  every 
thing.  Don't  give  it  a  moment's  thought." 

"  No,  I'll  arrange,"  replied  she.  "  It'll  give  me 
something  to  do — something  to  do  for  him.  You  see, 
it's  my  last  chance."  And  she  turned  to  ascend  the 
stairs.  "  Something  to  do,"  she  repeated  dully.  "  I 
wish  I  hadn't  cleaned  house  this  morning.  That  would 
be  something  more  to  do." 

This  jarred  on  him — then  brought  the  tears  to  his 
eyes  again.  How  childish  she  was! — and  how  desolate! 
"  But  you'll  let  me  stay?  "  he  pleaded.  "  You'll  need 
me.  At  any  rate,  I  want  to  feel  that  you  do." 

"  I'd  rather  you  didn't  stay,"  she  said,  in  the  same 
calm,  remote  way.  "I'd  rather  be  alone  with  him,  this 
last  time.  I'll  go  up  and  sit  there  until  they  take 
him  away.  And  then — in  a  few  days  I'll  see  what  to  do 
— I'll  send  for  you." 

"  I  can't  leave  you  at  such  a  time,"  he  cried.    "  You 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


haven't  realized  yet.  When  you  do  you  will  need  some 
one." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  interrupted.  "  He 
and  I  understood  each  other  in  some  ways.  I  know  he'd 
not  want — anyone  round." 

At  her  slight  hesitation  before  "  anyone  "  he  winced. 

"  I  must  be  alone  with  him,"  she  went  on.  "  Thank 
you,  but  I  want  to  go  now." 

"  Not  just  yet,"  he  begged.  Then,  seeing  the 
shadow  of  annoyance  on  her  beautiful  white  face,  he 
rose  and  said :  "  I'm  going.  I  only  want  to  help  you." 
He  extended  his  hand  impulsively,  drew  it  back  before 
she  had  the  chance  to  refuse  it.  For  he  felt  that  she 
would  refuse  it.  He  said,  "  You  know  you  can  rely 
on  me." 

"  But  I  don't  need  anybody,"  replied  she.  "  Good- 
by." 

"  If  I  can  do  anything " 

"  Pat  will  telephone."  She  was  already  halfway 
upstairs. 

He  found  Pat  in  the  front  yard,  and  arranged  with 
him  to  get  news  and  to  send  messages  by  way  of  the 
drug  store  at  the  corner,  so  that  she  would  know  noth 
ing  about  it.  He  went  to  a  florist's  in  New  York  and 
sent  masses  of  flowers.  And  then — there  was  nothing 
more  to  do.  He  stopped  in  at  the  club  and  drank  and 
gambled  until  far  into  the  morning.  He  fretted  gloom 
ily  about  all  the  next  day,  riding  alone  in  the  Park, 

233 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


driving  with  his  sister,  drinking  and  gambling  at  the 
club  again  and  smiling  cynically  to  himself  at  the  covert 
glances  his  acquaintances  exchanged.  He  was  growing 
used  to  those  glances.  He  cared  not  the  flip  of  a  penny 
for  them. 

On  the  third  day  came  the  funeral,  and  he  went.  He 
did  not  let  his  cabman  turn  in  behind  the  one  carriage 
that  followed  the  hearse.  At  the  graveyard  he  stood 
afar  off,  watching  her  in  her  simple  new  black,  noting 
her  calm.  She  seemed  thinner,  but  he  thought  it  might 
be  simply  her  black  dress.  He  could  see  no  change  in 
her  face.  As  she  was  leaving  the  grave,  she  looked  in 
his  direction  but  he  was  uncertain  whether  she  had 
seen  him.  Pat  and  Molly  were  in  the  big,  gloomy  look 
ing  carriage  with  her. 

He  ventured  to  go  to  the  front  gate  an  hour  later. 
Pat  came  out.  "  It's  no  use  to  go  in,  Mr.  Norman," 
he  said.  "  She'll  not  see  you.  She's  shut  up  in  her 
own  room." 

"  Hasn't  she  cried  yet,  Pat?  " 

"  Not  yet.  We're  waiting  for  it,  sir.  We're  afraid 
her  mind  will  give  way.  At  least,  Molly  is.  I  don't 
think  so.  She's  a  queer  young  lady — as  queer  as  she 
looks — though  at  first  you'd  never  think  it.  She's 
always  looking  different.  I  never  seen  so  many  persons 
in  one." 

"Can't  Molly  make  her  cry? — by  talking  about 
him?" 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  She's  tried,  sir.  It  wasn't  no  use.  Why,  Miss 
Dorothy  talks  about  him  just  as  if  he  was  still  here." 
Pat  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead.  "  I've  been  in 
many  a  house  of  mourning,  but  never  through  such  a 
strain  as  this.  Somehow  I  feel  as  if  I'd  never  before 
been  round  where  there  was  anyone  that'd  lost  some 
body  they  really  cared  about.  Weeping  and  moaning 
don't  amount  to  much  beside  what  she's  doing." 

Norman  stayed  round  for  an  hour  or  more,  then 
rushed  away  distracted.  He  drank  like  a  madman — 
drank  himself  into  a  daze,  and  so  got  a  few  hours  of 
a  kind  of  sleep.  He  was  looking  haggard  and  wild 
now,  and  everyone  avoided  him,  though  in  fact  there 
was  not  the  least  danger  of  an  outburst  of  temper.  His 
sister — Josephine — the  office — several  clients  telephoned 
for  him.  To  all  he  sent  the  same  refusal — that  he  was 
too  ill  to  see  anyone.  Not  until  the  third  day  after  the 
funeral  did  Dorothy  telephone  for  him. 

He  took  an  ice-cold  bath,  got  himself  together  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  reached  the  house  in  Jersey  City 
about  half  past  three  in  the  afternoon.  She  came  glid 
ing  into  the  room  like  a  ghost,  trailing  a  black  negligee 
that  made  the  whiteness  of  her  skin  startling.  Her  eye 
lids  were  heavy  and  dark,  but  unreddened.  She  gazed 
at  him  with  calm,  clear  melancholy,  and  his  heart 
throbbed  and  ached  for  her.  She  seated  herself,  clasped 
her  hands  loosely  in  her  lap,  and  said: 

"  I've  sent  for  you  so  that  I  could  settle  things  up.'* 
235 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"Your  father's  affairs?     Can't  I  do  it  better?" 

"  He  had  arranged  everything.  There  are  only  the 
papers — his  notes — and  he  wrote  out  the  addresses  of 
the  men  they  were  to  be  sent  to.  No,  I  mean  settle 
things  up  with  you." 

"  You  mustn't  bother  about  that,"  said  he.  "  Be 
sides,  there's  nothing  to  settle." 

"  I  shan't  pretend  I'm  going  to  try  to  pay  you 
back,"  she  went  on,  as  if  he  had  not  spoken.  "  I  never 
could  do  it.  But  you  will  get  part  at  least  by  selling 
this  furniture  and  the  things  at  the  laboratory." 

"  Dorothy — please,"  he  implored.  "  Don't  you  un 
derstand  you're  to  stay  on  here,  just  the  same?  What 
sort  of  man  do  you  think  I  am?  I  did  this  for  you, 
and  you  know  it." 

"  But  /  did  it  for  my  father,"  replied  she,  "  and 
he's  gone."  She  was  resting  her  melancholy  gaze  upon 
him.  "  I  couldn't  take  anything  from  you.  You  didn't 
think  I  was  that  kind?" 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  cared  nothing  about  the  scandal — what  people 
said — so  long  as  I  was  doing  it  for  him.  .  .  .  I'd  have 
done  anything  for  him.  Sometimes  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  compel  me  to  do  things  I'd  have  hated  to  do. 
I  hope  I  wronged  you,  but  I  feared  you  meant  that." 
She  sat  thinking  several  minutes,  sighed  wearily.  "  It's 
all  over  now.  It  doesn't  matter.  I  needn't  bother 
about  it  any  more." 

236 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Dorothy,  let's  not  talk  of  these  things  now,"  said 
Norman.  "  There's  no  hurry.  I  want  you  to  wait  until 
you  are  calm  and  have  thought  everything  over.  Then 
I'm  sure  you'll  see  that  you  ought  to  stay  on." 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  she  asked  wonderingly . 

"Why  not?  Am  I  demanding  anything  of  you? 
You  know  I'm  not — and  that  I  never  shall." 

"  But  there's  no  reason  on  earth  why  you  should 
support  me.  I  can  work.  Why  shouldn't  I?  And  if 
I  didn't,  if  I  stayed  on  here,  what  sort  of  woman  would 
I  be?" 

He  was  unable  to  find  an  answer.  He  was  trying 
not  to  see  a  look  in  her  face — or  was  it  in  her  soul, 
revealed  through  her  eyes  ? — a  look  that  made  him  think 
for  the  first  time  of  a  resemblance  between  her  and  her 
father. 

"  You  see  yourself  I've  got  to  go.  Any  money  I 
could  earn  wouldn't  more  than  pay  for  a  room  and 
board  somewhere." 

"  You  can  let  me  advance  you  money  while  you — " 
He  hesitated,  had  an  idea  which  he  welcomed  eagerly — 
"  while  you  study  for  the  stage.  Yes,  that's  the  sensible 
thing.  You  can  learn  to  act.  Then  you  will  be  able  to 
make  a  decent  living." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head.  "  I've  no  talent  for  it 
— and  no  liking.  No,  Mr.  Norman,  I  must  go  back  to 
work — and  right  away." 

"  But  at  least  wait  until  you've  looked  into  the  stage 
237 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


business,"  he  urged.  "  You  may  find  that  you  like  it 
and  that  you  have  talent  for  it." 

"  I  can't  take  any  more  from  you,"  she  said. 

"  You  think  I  am  not  to  be  trusted.  I'm  not  going 
to  say  now  how  I  feel  toward  you.  But  I  can  honestly 
say  one  thing.  Now  that  you  are  aU  alone  and  un 
protected,  you  needn't  have  the  least  fear  of  me." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "I  see  you  don't  believe  me. 
Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  I've  seen  Mr.  Tetlow  and  he 
has  given  me  a  place  at  twelve  a  week  in  his  office." 

Norman  sank  back  in  his  chair.  "  He  is  in  for  him 
self  now?  " 

"  No.     He's  head  clerk  for  Pitchley  &  Culver." 

"  Culver !  "  exclaimed  Norman.  "  I  don't  want  you 
to  go  into  Culver's  office.  He's  a  scoundrel." 

Again  Dorothy  smiled  faintly.  Norman  colored. 
"  I  know  he  stands  well — as  well  as  I  do.  But  I  can't 
trust  you  with  him.  That  sounds  ridiculous  but — it's 
true." 

"  I  think  I  can  trust  myself,"  she  said  quietly.  Her 
grave  regard  fixed  his.  "  Don't  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

His  eyes  lowered.  "  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  But — why 
shouldn't  you  come  back  with  us?  I'll  see  that  you  get 
a  much  better  position  than  Culver's  giving  you." 

Over  her  face  crept  one  of  those  mysterious  trans 
formations  that  made  her  so  bafflingly  fascinating  to 
him.  Behind  that  worldly-wise,  satirical  mask  was  she 
mocking  at  him?  All  she  said  was:  "I  couldn't  work 

238 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


there.  I've  settled  it  with  Mr.  Tetlow.  I  go  to  work 
to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow !  "  he  cried,  starting  up. 

"  And  I've  found  a  place  to  live.  Pat  and  Molly 
will  take  care  of  things  for  you  here." 

"  Dorothy !  You  don't  mean  this  ?  You're  not 
going  to  break  off  ?  " 

"  I  shan't  see  you  again — except  as  we  may  meet 
by  accident." 

"  Do  you  realize  what  you're  saying  means  to  me  ?  " 
he  cried.  "Don't  you  know  how  I  love  you?"  He 
advanced  toward  her.  She  stood  and  waited  passively, 
looking  at  him.  "  Dorothy — my  love — do  you  want 
to  kill  me?" 

"  When  are  you  to  be  married  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

"  You  are  playing  with  me !  "  he  cried.  "  You  are 
tormenting  me.  What  have  I  ever  done  that  you  should 
treat  me  this  way  ?  "  He  caught  her  unresisting  hands 
and  kissed  them.  "  Dear — my  dear — don't  you  care  for 
me  at  all?" 

"  No,"  she  said  placidly.    "  I've  always  told  you  so." 

He  seized  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  with  a  frenzy 
that  was  savage,  ferocious.  "  You  will  drive  me  mad. 
You  have  driven  me  mad !  "  he  muttered.  And  he  added, 
unconscious  that  he  was  speaking  his  thoughts,  so  dis 
tracted  was  he:  "You  must  love  me — you  must!  No 
woman  has  ever  resisted  me.  You  cannot." 

She  drew  herself  away  from  him,  stood  before  him 
239 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


like  snow,  like  ice.  "  One  thing  I  have  never  told  you. 
I'll  tell  you  now,"  she  said  deliberately.  "  I  despise 
you." 

He  fell  back  a  step  and  the  chill  of  her  coldness 
seemed  to  be  freezing  the  blood  in  his  veins. 

"  I've  always  despised  you,"  she  went  on,  and  he 
shivered  before  that  contemptuous  word — it  seemed  only 
the  more  contemptuous  for  her  calmness.  "  Sometimes 
I've  despised  you  thoroughly — again  only  a  little — but 
always  that  feeling." 

For  a  moment  he  thought  she  had  at  last  stung  his 
pride  into  the  semblance  of  haughtiness.  He  was  able 
to  look  at  her  with  mocking  eyes  and  to  say,  "  I  con 
gratulate  you  on  your  cleverness  in  concealing  your 
feelings." 

"  It  wasn't  my  cleverness,"  she  said  wearily.  "  It 
was  your  blindness.  I  never  deceived  you." 

"  No,  you  never  have,"  he  replied  sincerely.  "  Per 
haps  I  deserve  to  be  despised.  Again,  perhaps  if  you 
knew  the  world — the  one  I  live  in — better,  you'd  think 
less  harshly  of  me." 

"  I  don't  think  harshly  of  you.  How  could  I- — 
after  all  you  did  for  my  father  ?  " 

"  Dorothy,  if  you'll  stay  here  and  study  for  the 
stage — or  anything  you  choose — I  promise  you  I'll 
never  speak  of  my  feeling  for  you — or  show  it  in  any 
way — unless  you  yourself  give  me  leave." 

She  smiled  with  childlike  pathos.  "  You  ought  not 
240 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


to  tempt  me.  Do  you  want  me  to  keep  on  despising 
you  ?  Can't  you  ever  be  fair  with  me  ?  " 

The  sad,  frank  gentleness  of  the  appeal  swung  his 
unhinged  mind  to  the  other  extreme — from  the  savagery 
of  passion  to  a  frenzy  of  remorse.  "  Fair  to  you? 
No,"  he  cried,  "  because  I  love  you.  Oh,  I'm  ashamed 
— bitterly  ashamed.  I'm  capable  of  any  baseness  to 
get  you.  You're  right.  You  can't  trust  me.  In  going 
you're  saving  me  from  myself."  He  hesitated,  stared 
wildly,  appalled  at  the  words  that  were  fighting  for 
utterance — the  words  about  marriage — about  marrying 
her !  He  said  hoarsely :  "  I  am  mad — mad !  I  don't 
know  what  I'm  saying.  Good-by —  For  God's  sake, 
don't  think  the  worst  of  me,  Dorothy.  Good-by.  I 
will  be  a  man  again — I  will !  " 

And  he  wrung  her  hand  and,  talking  incoherently, 
he  rushed  from  the  room  and  from  the  house. 


XII' 


HE  went  straight  home  and  sought  his  sister.  She 
had  that  moment  come  in  from  tea  after  a  matinee. 
She  talked  about  the  play — how  badly  it  was  acted — 
and  about  the  women  she  had  seen  at  tea — how  badly 
dressed  they  were.  "  It's  hard  to  say  which  is  the 
more  dreadful — the  ugly,  misshapen  human  race  without 
clothes  or  in  the  clothes  it  insists  on  wearing.  And 
the  talk  at  that  tea!  Does  no  one  ever  say  a  pleasant 
thing  about  anyone  ?  Doesn't  anyone  ever  do  a  pleasant 
thing  that  can  be  spoken  about?  I  read  this  morning 
Tolstoy's  advice  about  resolving  to  think  all  day  only 
nice  thoughts  and  sticking  to  it.  That  sounded  good 
to  me,  and  I  decided  to  try  it."  Ursula  laughed  and 
squirmed  about  in  her  tight-fitting  dress  that  made  an 
enchanting  display  of  her  figure.  "  What  is  one  to  do  ? 
7  can't  be  a  fraud,  for  one.  And  if  I  had  stuck  to  my 
resolution  I'd  have  spent  the  day  in  lying.  What's 
the  matter,  Fred?  "  Now  that  her  attention  was  at 
tracted  she  observed  more  closely.  "  What  have  you 
been  doing?  You  look — frightful!" 

66  I've  broken  with  her,"  replied  he. 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"With  Jo?"  she  cried.  "Why,  Fred,  you  can't 
— you  can't — with  the  wedding  only  five  days  away !  " 

«  Not  with  Jo." 

Ursula  breathed  noisy  relief.  She  said  cheerfully: 
"  Oh— with  the  other.  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  over." 

"  Over  ?  "  said  he  sardonically.  "  Over  ?  It's  only 
begun." 

"  But  you'll  stick  it  out,  Fred.  You've  made  a  fool 
of  yourself  long  enough.  What  was  the  girl  playing 
for  ?  Marriage  ?  " 

He  nodded.  "  I  guess  so."  He  laughed  curtly. 
"  And  she  almost  won." 

Ursula  smiled  with  fine  mockery.  "  Almost,  but  not 
quite.  I  know  you  men.  Women  do  that  sort  of  fool 
thing.  But  men — never — at  least  not  the  ambitious, 
snobbish  New  York  men." 

"  She  almost  won,"  he  repeated.  "  At  least,  I  al 
most  did  it.  If  I  had  stayed  a  minute  longer  I'd  have 
done  it." 

"  You  like  to  think  you  would,"  mocked  Ursula. 
"  But  if  you  had  tried  to  say  the  words  your  lungs 
would  have  collapsed,  your  vocal  chords  snapped  and 
your  tongue  shriveled." 

"  I  am  not  so  damn  sure  I  shan't  do  it  yet,"  he  burst 
out  fiercely. 

"  But  I  am,"  said  Ursula,  calm,  brisk,  practical. 
"  What's  she  going  to  do?  " 

"  Going  to  work." 

243 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Ursula  laughed  joyously.  "What  a  joke!  A  wom 
an  go  to  work  when  she  needn't ! " 

"  She  is  going  to  work." 

"  To  work  another  man." 

"  She  meant  it." 

"  How  easily  women  fool  men ! — even  the  wise  men 
like  you." 

"  She  meant  it." 

"  She  still  hopes  to  marry  you — or  she  has  heard 
of  your  marriage " 

Norman  lifted  his  head.  Into  his  face  came  the 
cynical,  suspicious  expression. 

"  And  has  fastened  on  some  other  man.  Or  perhaps 
she's  found  some  good  provider  who's  willing  to  marry 
her." 

Norman  sprang  up,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  mouth 
working  cruelly.  "  By  God !  "  he  cried.  "  If  I  thought 
that ! " 

His  sister  was  alarmed.  Such  a  man — in  such  a 
delirium — might  commit  any  absurdity.  He  flung  him 
self  down  in  despair.  "  Urse,  why  can't  I  get  rid  of 
this  thing?  It's  ruining  me.  It's  killing  me!  " 

"  Your  good  sense  tells  you  if  you  had  her  you'd 
be  over  it — "  She  snapped  her  fingers — "  like  that." 

"  Yes — yes — I  know  it !  But — "  He  groaned — 
"  she  has  broken  with  me." 

Ursula  went  to  him  and  kissed  him  and  took  his 
head  in  her  arms.  "  What  a  boy-boy  it  is ! "  she  said 

$14 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


tenderly.  "  Oh,  it  must  be  dreadful  to  have  always 
had  whatever  one  wanted  and  then  to  find  something 
one  can't  have.  We  women  are  used  to  it — and  the 
usual  sort  of  man.  But  not  your  sort,  Freddy — and 
I'm  so  sorry  for  you." 

"  I  want  her,  Urse — I  want  her,"  he  groaned,  and 
he  was  almost  sobbing.  "  My  God,  I  can't  get  on 
without  her." 

"  Now,  Freddy  dear,  listen  to  me.  You  know  she's 
'way,  'way  beneath  you — that  she  isn't  at  all  what 
you've  got  in  the  habit  of  picturing  her — that  it's  all 
delusion  and  nonsense " 

"  I  want  her,"  he  repeated.     "  I  want  her." 

"  You'd  be  ashamed  if  you  had  her  as  a  wife — 
wouldn't  you?" 

He  was  silent. 

"  She  isn't  a  lady." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  he. 

"  She  hasn't  any  sense.  A  low  sort  of  cunning, 
yes.  But  not  brains — not  enough  to  hold  you." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  he.  "  She's  got  enough  for 
a  woman.  And — I  want  her." 

"  She  isn't  to  be  compared  with  Josephine." 

"  But  I  don't  want  Josephine.     I  want  her." 

"  But  which  do  you  want  to  marry? — to  bring  for 
ward  as  your  wife? — to  spend  your  life  with?  " 

"  I  know.  I'm  a  mad  fool.  But,  Urse,  I  can't  help 
it."  He  stood  up  suddenly.  "  I've  used  every  weapon 

245 


THE    GRAIN    OF   DUST 


I've  got. .  Even  pride  —  and  it  skulked  away.  My 
sense  of  humor — and  it  weakened.  My  will — and  it 
snapped." 

"  Is  she  so  wonderful  ?  " 

"  She  is  so — elusive.  I  can't  understand  her — I 
can't  touch  her.  I  can't  find  her.  She  keeps  me  going 
like  a  man  chasing  an  echo." 

"  Like  a  man  chasing  an  echo,"  repeated  Ursula  re 
flectively.  "  I  understand.  It  is  maddening.  She  must 
be  clever — in  her  way." 

"  Or  very  simple.  God  knows  which ;  I  don't — and 
sometimes  I  think  she  doesn't,  either."  He  made  a  ges 
ture  of  dismissal.  "  Well,  it's  finished.  I  must  pull 
myself  together — or  try  to." 

"  You  will,"  said  his  sister  confidently.  "  A  fort 
night  from  now  you'll  be  laughing  at  yourself." 

"  I  am  now.  I  have  been  all  along.  But — it  does 
no  good." 

She  had  to  go  and  dress.  But  she  could  not  leave 
until  she  had  tried  to  make  him  comfortable.  He  was 
drinking  brandy  and  soda  and  staring  at  his  feet  which 
were  stretched  straight  out  toward  the  fire.  "  Where's 
your  sense  of  humor?  "  she  demanded.  "  Throw  your 
self  on  your  sense  of  humor.  It's  a  friend  that  sticks 
when  all  others  fail." 

"  It's  my  only  hope,"  he  said  with  a  grim  smile.  "  I 
can  see  myself.  No  wonder  she  despises  me." 

"Despises  you?"  scoffed  Ursula.  "A  woman  des- 
246 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


pise  you!  She's  crazy  about  you,  I'll  bet  anything  you 
like.  Before  you're  through  with  this  you^ll  find  out 
I'm  right.  And  then — you'll  have  no  use  for  her." 

"  She  despises  me." 

"Well— what  of  it?  Really,  Fred,  it  irritates  me 
to  see  you  absolutely  unlike  yourself.  Why,  you're  as 
broken-spirited  as  a  henpecked  old  husband." 

"  Just  that,"  he  admitted,  rising  and  looking  drear 
ily  about.  "  I  don't  know  what  the  devil  to  do  next. 
Everything  seems  to  have  stopped." 

"  Going  to  see  Josephine  this  evening?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  his  indifferent  reply. 

"  You'll  have  to  dress  after  dinner.  There's  no 
time  now." 

"  Dress  ?  "  he  inquired  vaguely.  "  Why  dress  ? 
Why  do  anything?  " 

She  thought  he  would  not  go  to  Josephine  but 
would  hide  in  his  club  and  drink.  But  she  was  mistaken. 
Toward  nine  o'clock  he,  in  evening  dress,  with  the  ex 
pression  of  a  horse  in  a  treadmill,  rang  the  bell  of 
Josephine's  house  and  passed  in  at  the  big  bronze  doors. 
The  butler  must  have  particularly  admired  the  way  he 
tossed  aside  his  coat  and  hat.  As  soon  as  he  was  in 
the  presence  of  his  fiancee  he  saw  that  she  was  again  in 
the  throes  of  some  violent  agitation. 

She  began  at  once:  "  I've  just  had  the  most  fright 
ful  scene  with  father,"  she  said.  "  He's  been  hearing 
a  lot  of  stuff  about  you  down  town  and  it  set  him  wild." 

247 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke  a  cigar?  "  said  he,  look 
ing  at  her  unseeingly  with  haggard,  cold  eyes.  "  And 
may  I  have  some  whisky  ?  " 

She  rang.  "  I  hope  the  servants  didn't  hear  him," 
she  said.  Then,  as  a  step  sounded  outside  she  put  on 
an  air  of  gayety,  as  if  she  were  still  laughing  at  some 
jest  he  had  made.  In  the  doorway  appeared  her  father 
— one  of  those  big  men  who  win  half  the  battle  in 
advance  on  personal  appearance  of  unconquerable  might. 
Burroughs  was  noted  for  his  generosity  and  for  his 
violent  temper.  As  a  rule  men  of  the  largeness  necessary 
to  handling  large  affairs  are  free  from  petty  vindictive- 
ness.  They  are  too  busy  for  hatred.  They  do  not 
forgive;  they  are  most  careful  not  to  forget;  they 
simply  stand  ready  at  any  moment  to  do  whatever  it 
is  to  their  interest  to  do,  regardless  of  friendships  or 
animosities.  Burroughs  was  an  exception  in  that  he 
got  his  highest  pleasure  out  of  pursuing  his  enemies. 
He  enjoyed  this  so  keenly  that  several  times — so  it  was 
said — he  had  sacrificed  real  money  to  satisfy  a  revenge. 
But  these  rumors  may  have  wronged  him.  It  is  hardly 
probable  that  a  man  who  would  let  a  weakness  carry 
him  to  that  pitch  of  folly  could  have  escaped  destruc 
tion.  For  of  all  the  follies  revenge  is  the  most  danger 
ous — as  well  as  the  most  fatuous. 

Burroughs  had  a  big  face.  Had  he  looked  less 
powerful  the  bigness  of  his  features,  the  spread  of  cheek 
and  jowl,  would  have  been  grotesque.  As  it  was,  the 

248 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


face  was  impressive,  especially  when  one  recalled  how 
many,  many  millions  he  owned  and  how  many  more  he 
controlled.  The  control  was  better  than  the  ownership. 
The  millions  he  owned  made  him  a  coward — he  was 
afraid  he  might  lose  them.  The  millions  he  controlled, 
and  of  course  used  for  his  own  enrichment,  made  him 
brave,  for  if  they  were  lost  in  the  daring  ventures  in 
which  he  freely  staked  them,  why,  the  loss  was  not  his, 
and  he  could  shift  the  blame.  Usually  Norman  treated 
him  with  great  respect,  for  his  business  gave  the  firm 
nearly  half  its  total  income,  and  it  was  his  daughter  and 
his  wealth,  prestige  and  power,  that  Norman  was  mar 
rying.  But  this  evening  he  looked  at  the  great  man 
with  a  superciliousness  that  was  peculiarly  disrespect 
ful  from  so  young  a  man  to  one  well  advanced  toward 
old  age.  Norman  had  been  feeling  relaxed,  languid, 
exhausted.  The  signs  of  battle  in  that  powerful  face 
nerved  him,  keyed  him  up  at  once.  He  waited  with  a 
joyful  impatience  while  the  servant  was  bringing  cigars 
and  whisky.  The  enormous  quantities  of  liquor  he  had 
drunk  in  the  last  few  days  had  not  been  without  effect. 
Alcohol,  the  general  stimulant,  inevitably  brings  out 
in  strong  relief  a  man's  dominant  qualities.  The  domi 
nant  quality  of  Norman  was  love  of  combat. 

"  Josephine  tells  me  you  are  in  a  blue  fury,"  said 
Norman  pleasantly  when  the  door  was  closed  and  the 
three  were  alone.  "  No — not  a  blue  fury.  A  black 
fury." 

249 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


At  the  covert  insolence  of  his  tone  Josephine  became 
violently  agitated.  "  Father,"  she  said,  with  the  im- 
periousness  of  an  only  and  indulged  child,  "  I  have  asked 
you  not  to  interfere  between  Fred  and  me.  I  thought 
I  had  your  promise." 

"  I  said  I'd  think  about  it,"  replied  her  father.  He 
had  a  heavy  voice  that  now  and  then  awoke  some  string 
of  the  lower  octaves  of  the  piano  in  the  corner  to  a 
dismal  groan.  "  I've  decided  to  speak  out." 

"  That's  right,  sir,"  said  Norman.  "  Is  your  quar 
rel  with  me  ?  " 

Josephine  attempted  an  easy  laugh.  "  It's  that  silly 
story  we  were  talking  about  the  other  day,  Fred." 

"  I  supposed  so,"  said  he.  "  You  are  not  smoking, 
Mr.  Burroughs — "  He  laughed  amiably — "  at  least 
not  a  cigar." 

"  The  doctor  only  allows  me  one,  and  I've  had  it," 
replied  Burroughs,  his  eyes  sparkling  viciously  at  this 
flick  of  the  whip.  "  What  is  the  truth  about  that  busi 
ness,  Norman?  " 

Norman's  amused  glance  encountered  the  savage 
glare  mockingly.  "  Why  do  you  ask?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Because  my  daughter's  happiness  is  at  stake.  Be 
cause  I  cannot  but  resent  a  low  scandal  about  a  man 
who  wishes  to  marry  my  daughter." 

"  Very  proper,  sir,"  said  Norman  graciously. 

"  My  daughter,"  continued  Burroughs  with  accele 
rating  anger,  "  tells  me  you  have  denied  the  story." 

250 


" '  Father    ...    I    have   asked  you   not   to  interfere   between 
Fred  and  me.'  " 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman  interrupted  with  an  astonished  look  at 
Josephine.  She  colored,  gazed  at  him  imploringly.  His 
face  terrified  her.  When  body  and  mind  are  in  health 
and  at  rest  the  fullness  of  the  face  hides  the  character 
to  a  great  extent.  But  when  a  human  being  is  sick  or 
very  tired  the  concealing  roundness  goes  and  in  the 
clearly  marked  features  the  true  character  is  revealed. 
In  Norman's  face,  haggard  by  his  wearing  emotions,  his 
character  stood  forth — the  traits  of  strength,  of  te 
nacity,  of  inevitable  purpose.  And  Josephine  saw  and 
dreaded. 

"  But,"  Burroughs  went  on,  "  I  have  it  on  the  best 
authority  that  it  is  true." 

Norman,  looking  into  the  fascinating  face  of  danger, 
was  thrilled.  "  Then  you  wish  to  break  off  the  engage 
ment?  "  he  said  in  the  gentlest,  smoothest  tone. 

Burroughs  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table — and 
Norman  recognized  the  gesture  of  the  bluffer.  "  I  wish 
you  to  break  off  with  that  woman !  "  he  cried.  "  I  in 
sist  upon  it — upon  positive  assurances  from  you." 

"  Fred !  "  pleaded  Josephine.  "  Don't  listen  to  him. 
Remember,  7  have  said  nothing." 

He  had  long  been  looking  for  a  justifying  griev 
ance  against  her.  It  now  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
found  it.  "  Why  should  you  ?  "  he  said  genially  but 
with  subtle  irony,  "  since  you  are  getting  your  father 
to  speak  for  you." 

There  was  just  enough  truth  in  this  to  entangle  her 
9  251 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  throw  her  into  disorder.  She  had  been  afraid  of 
the  consequences  of  her  father's  interfering  with  a  man 
so  spirited  as  Norman,  but  at  the  same  time  she  had 
longed  to  have  some  one  put  a  check  upon  him.  Nor 
man's  suave  remark  made  her  feel  that  he  could  see  into 
her  inmost  soul — could  see  the  anger,  the  jealousy,  the 
doubt,  the  hatred-tinged  love,  the  love-saturated  hate 
seething  and  warring  there. 

Burroughs  was  saying :  "  If  we  had  not  committed 
ourselves  so  deeply,  I  should  deal  very  differently  with 
this  matter." 

"  Why  should  that  deter  you  ?  "  said  Norman — and 
Josephine  gave  a  piteous  gasp.  "  If  this  goes  much 
farther,  I  assure  you  7  shall  not  be  deterred." 

Burroughs,  firmly  planted  in  a  big  leather  chair, 
looked  at  the  young  man  in  puzzled  amazement.  "  I 
see  you  think  you  have  us  in  your  power,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  But  you  are  mistaken." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  rejoined  the  young  man,  "  I 
see  you  believe  you  have  me  in  your  power.  And  in  a 
sense  you  are  not  mistaken." 

"  Father,  he  is  right,"  cried  Josephine  agitatedly. 
"  I  shouldn't  love  and  respect  him  as  I  do  if  he  would 
submit  to  this  hectoring." 

"  Hectoring !  "  exclaimed  Burroughs.  "  Josephine, 
leave  the  room.  I  cannot  discuss  this  matter  properly 
before  you." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  leave,  Josephine,"  said  Nor- 
252 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


man.  "  There  is  nothing  to  be  said  that  you  cannot 
and  ought  not  to  hear." 

"  I'm  not  an  infant,  father,"  said  Josephine.  "  Be 
sides,  it  is  as  Fred  says.  He  has  done  nothing — 
improper." 

"  Then  why  does  he  not  say  so  ?  "  demanded  Bur 
roughs,  seeing  a  chance  to  recede  from  his  former  too 
advanced  position.  "  That's  all  I  ask." 

"  But  I  told  you  all  about  it,  father,"  said  Josephine 
angrily.  "  They've  been  distorting  the  truth,  and  the 
truth  is  to  his  credit." 

Norman  avoided  the  glance  she  sent  to  him ;  it  was 
only  a  glance  and  away,  for  more  formidably  than  ever 
his  power  was  enthroned  in  his  haggard  face.  He 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  it  was  plain  that 
the  muscles  of  his  strong  figure  were  braced  to  give 
and  to  receive  a  shock.  "  Mr.  Burroughs,"  he  said, 
"  your  daughter  is  mistaken.  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault 
— in  having  helped  her  to  mislead  herself.  The  plain 
truth  is,  I  have  become  infatuated  with  a  young  woman. 
She  cares  nothing  about  me — has  repulsed  me.  I  have 
been  and  am  making  a  fool  of  myself  about  her.  I've 
been  hoping  to  cure  myself.  I  still  hope.  But  I  am 
not  cured." 

There  was  absolute  silence  in  the  room.  Norman 
stole  a  glance  at  Josephine.  She  was  sitting  erect,  a 
greenish  pallor  over  her  ghastly  face. 

He  said :  "  If  she  will  take  me,  now  that  she  knows 
253 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  truth,  I  shall  be  grateful — and  I  shall  make  what 
effort  I  can  to  do  my  best." 

He  looked  at  her  and  she  at  him.  And  for  an  in 
stant  her  eyes  softened.  There  was  the  appeal  of  weak 
human  heart  to  weak  human  heart  in  his  gaze.  Her  lip 
quivered.  A  brief  struggle  between  vanity  and  love — 
and  vanity,  the  stronger,  the  strongest  force  in  her  life, 
dominating  it  since  earliest  babyhood  and  only  seeming 
to  give  way  to  love  when  love  came — it  was  vanity  that 
won.  She  stiffened  herself  and  her  mouth  curled  with 
proud  scorn.  She  laughed — a  sneer  of  jealous  rage. 
"  Father,"  she  said,  "  thfc  lady  in  the  case  is  a  common 
typewriter  in  his  office." 

But  to  men — especially  to  practical  men — differ 
ences  of  rank  and  position  among  women  are  not  funda 
mentally  impressive.  Man  is  in  the  habit  of  taking  what 
he  wants  in  the  way  of  womankind  wherever  he  finds  it, 
and  he  understands  that  habit  in  other  men.  He  was 
furious  with  Norman,  but  he  did  not  sympathize  with 
his  daughter's  extreme  attitude.  He  said  to  Norman 
sharply : 

"  You  say  you  have  broken  with  the  woman?  " 

"  She  has  broken  with  me,"  replied  Norman. 

"  At  any  rate,  everything  is  broken  off." 

"  Apparently." 

"  Then  there  is  no  reason  why  the  marriage  should 
not  go  on."  He  turned  to  his  daughter.  "  If  you 
understood  men,  you  would  attach  no  importance  to  this 

254 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


matter.  As  you  yourself  said,  the  woman  isn't  a  lady 
— isn't  in  our  class.  That  sort  of  thing  amounts  to 
nothing.  Norman  has  acted  well.  He  has  shown  the 
highest  kind  of  honesty — has  been  truthful  where  most 
men  would  have  shifted  and  lied.  Anyhow,  things  have 
gone  too  far."  Not  without  the  soundest  reasons  had 
Burroughs  accepted  Norman  as  his  son-in-law;  and  he 
had  no  fancy  for  giving  him  up,  when  men  of  his 
preeminent  fitness  were  so  rare. 

There  was  another  profound  silence.  Josephine 
looked  at  Norman.  Had  he  returned  her  gaze,  the  event 
might  have  been  different ;  for  within  her  there  was 
now  going  on  a  struggle  between  two  nearly  evenly 
matched  vanities — the  vanity  of  her  own  outraged  pride 
and  the  vanity  of  what  the  world  would  say  and  think, 
if  the  engagement  were  broken  off  at  that  time  and  in 
those  circumstances.  But  he  did  not  look  at  her.  He 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  opposite  wall,  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  emotion  of  any  kind  in  his  stony  fea 
tures.  Josephine  rose,  suppressed  a  sob,  looked  arro 
gant  scorn  from  eyes  shining  with  tears — tears  of  self- 
pity.  "  Send  him  away,  father,"  she  said.  "  He  has 
tried  to  degrade  me!  I  am  done  with  him."  And  she 
rushed  from  the  room,  her  father  half  starting  from 
his  chair  to  detain  her. 

He  turned  angrily  on  Norman.  "  A  hell  of  a  mess 
you've  made !  "  he  cried. 

"  A  hell  of  a  mess,"  replied  the  young  man. 
255 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Of  course  she'll  come  round.  But  you've  got  to 
do  your  part." 

"  It's  settled,"  said  Norman.  And  he  threw  his 
cigar  into  the  fireplace.  "  Good  night." 

"  Hold  on !  "  cried  Burroughs.  "  Before  you  go, 
you  must  see  Josie  alone  and  talk  with  her." 

"  It  would  be  useless,"  said  Norman.  "  You  know 
her." 

Burroughs  laid  his  hand  f  riendlily  but  heavily  upon 
the  young  man's  shoulder.  "  This  outburst  of  non 
sense  might  cost  you  two  young  people  your  happiness 
for  life.  This  is  no  time  for  jealousy  and  false  pride. 
Wait  a  moment." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Norman.  "  But  it  is  useless." 
He  understood  Josephine  now — he  who  had  become  a 
connoisseur  of  love.  He  knew  that  her  vanity- founded 
love  had  vanished. 

Burroughs  disappeared  in  the  direction  his  daugh 
ter  had  taken.  Norman  waited  several  minutes — long 
enough  slowly  to  smoke  a  cigarette.  Then  he  went  into 
the  hall  arid  put  on  his  coat  with  deliberation.  No  one 
appeared,  not  even  a  servant.  He  went  out  into  the 
street. 

In  the  morning  papers  he  found  the  announcement 
of  the  withdrawal  of  the  invitations — and  from  half  a 
column  to  several  columns  of  comment,  much  of  it  ex 
tremely  unflattering  to  him. 


XIII 

WHEN  a  "  high  life  "  engagement  such  as  that  of 
Norman  and  Miss  Burroughs,  collapses  on  the  eve  of 
the  wedding,  the  gossip  and  the  scandal,  however  great, 
are  but  a  small  part  of  the  mess.  Doubtless  many  a 
marriage — and  not  in  high  life  alone,  either — has  been 
put  through,  although  the  one  party  or  the  other  or 
both  have  discovered  that  disaster  was  inevitable — solely 
because  of  the  appalling  muddle  the  sensible  course 
would  precipitate.  In  the  case  of  the  Norman-Bur 
roughs  fiasco,  there  were — to  note  only  a  few  big  items 
— such  difficulties  as  several  car  loads  of  presents  from 
all  parts  of  the  earth  to  be  returned,  a  house  furnished 
throughout  and  equipped  to  the  last  scullery  maid  and 
stable  boy  to  be  disposed  of,  the  entire  Burroughs 
domestic  economy  which  had  been  reconstructed  to  be 
put  back  upon  its  former  basis. 

It  is  not  surprising  that,  as  Ursula  Fitzhugh  was 
credibly  informed,  Josephine  almost  decided  to  send  for 
Bob  Culver  and  marry  him  on  the  day  before  the  day 
appointed  for  her  marriage  to  Fred.  The  reason  given 
for  her  not  doing  this  sounded  plausible.  Culver,  de 
spairing  of  making  the  match  on  which  his  ambition — 

257 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  therefore  his  heart  was  set — and  seeing  a  chance  to 
get  suddenly  rich,  had  embarked  for  a  career  as  a  black 
mailer  of  corporations.  That  is,  he  nosed  about  for  a 
big  corporation  stealthily  doing  or  arranging  to  do 
some  unlawful  but  highly  profitable  acts;  he  bought  a 
few  shares  of  its  stock,  using  a  fake  client  as  a  blind ;  he 
then  proceeded  to  threaten  it  with  exposure,  expensive 
hindrances  and  the  like,  unless  it  bought  him  off  at  a 
huge  profit  to  himself.  This  business  was  regarded  as 
most  disreputable  and — thanks  to  the  power  of  the  big 
corporations  over  the  courts — had  resulted  in  the  send 
ing  of  several  of  its  practisers  to  jail  or  on  hasty  jour 
neys  to  foreign  climes.  But  Culver,  almost  if  not  quite 
as  good  a  lawyer  as  Norman,  was  too  clever  to  be  caught 
in  that  way.  However,  while  he  was  getting  very  rich 
rapidly,  he  was  as  yet  far  from  rich  enough  to  overcome 
the  detestation  of  old  Burroughs,  and  to  be  eligible  for 
the  daughter. 

So,  Josephine  sailed  away  to  Europe,  with  the  con 
solation  that  her  father  was  so  chagrined  by  the  fizzle 
that  he  had  withdrawn  his  veto  upon  the  purchase  of  a 
foreign  title — that  veto  having  been  the  only  reason  she 
had  looked  at  home  for  a  husband.  Strange  indeed  are 
the  ways  of  love — never  stranger  than  when  it  comes 
into  contact  with  the  vanities  of  wealth  and  social  posi 
tion  and  the  other  things  that  cause  a  human  being  to 
feel  that  he  or  she  is  lifted  clear  of  and  high  above  the 
human  condition.  Josephine  had  her  consolation.  For 

258 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman  the  only  consolation  was  escape  from  a  mar 
riage  which  had  become  so  irksome  in  anticipation  that 
he  did  not  dare  think  what  it  would  be  in  the  reality. 
Over  against  this  consolation  was  set  a  long  list  of  dis 
asters.  He  found  himself  immediately  shunned  by  all 
his  friends.  Their  professed  reason  was  that  he  had 
acted  shabbily  in  the  breaking  of  the  engagement ;  for, 
while  it  was  assumed  that  Josephine  must  have  done  the 
actual  breaking,  it  was  also  assumed  that  he  must  have 
given  her  provocation  and  to  spare.  This  virtuous  in 
dignation  was  in  large  part  mere  pretext,  as  virtuous 
indignation  in  frail  mortals  toward  frail  mortals  is  apt 
to  be.  The  real  reason  for  shying  off  from  Norman  was 
his  atmosphere  of  impending  downfall.  And  certainly 
that  atmosphere  had  eaten  away  and  dissipated  all  his 
former  charm.  He  looked  dull  and  boresome — and  he 
was. 

But  the  chief  disaster  was  material.  As  has  been 
said,  old  Burroughs,  in  his  own  person  and  in  the  enter 
prises  he  controlled,  gave  Norman's  firm  about  half  its 
income.  The  day  Josephine  sailed,  Lockyer,  senior 
partner  of  the  firm,  got  an  intimation  that  unless  Nor 
man  left,  Burroughs  would  take  his  law  business  else 
where,  and  would  "  advise  "  others  of  their  clients  to 
follow  his  example.  Lockyer  no  sooner  heard  than  he 
began  to  bestir  himself.  He  called  into  consultation  the 
learned  Benchley  and  the  astute  Sanders  and  the  soft 
and  sly  Lockyer  junior.  There  could  be  no  question 

259 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


that  Norman  must  be  got  rid  of.    The  only  point  was, 
who  should  inform  the  lion  that  he  had  been  deposed? 

After  several  hours  of  anxious  discussion,  Lockyer, 
his  inward  perturbations  hid  beneath  that  mask  of  smug 
and  statesmanlike  respectability,  entered  the  lion's  den 
— a  sick  lion,  sick  unto  death  probably,  but  not  a  dead 
lion.  "  When  you're  ready  to  go  uptown,  Frederick," 
said  he  in  his  gentlest,  most  patriarchal  manner,  "  let  me 
know.  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

Norman,  heavy  eyed  and  listless,  looked  at  the  hand 
some  old  fraud.  As  he  looked  something  of  the  piercing 
quality  and  something  of  the  humorous  came  back  into 
his  eyes.  "  Sit  down  and  say  it  now,"  said  he. 

"  I'd  prefer  to  talk  where  we  can  be  quiet." 

Norman  rang  his  bell  and  when  an  office  boy  ap 
peared,  said  •  "  No  one  is  to  disturb  me  until  I  ring 
again."  Then  as  the  boy  withdrew  he  said  to  Lockyer : 
"Now,  sir,  what  is  it?" 

Lockyer  strolled  to  the  window,  looked  out  as  if 
searching  for  something  he  failed  to  find,  came  back  to 
the  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  desk  from  Norman, 
seated  himself.  "  I  don't  know  how  to  begin,"  said  he. 
"  It  is  hard  to  say  painful  things  to  anyone  I  have  such 
an  affection  for  as  I  have  for  you." 

Norman  pushed  a  sheet  of  letter  paper  across  the 
desk  toward  his  partner.  "  Perhaps  that  will  help  you," 
observed  he  carelessly. 

Lockyer  put  on  his  nose  glasses  with  the  gesture  of 
260 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


grace  and  intellect  that  was  famous.  He  read — a  brief 
demand  for  a  release  from  the  partnership  and  a  request 
for  an  immediate  settlement.  Lockyer  blinked  off  his 
glasses  with  the  gesture  that  was  as  famous  and  as  ad 
miringly  imitated  by  lesser  legal  lights  as  was  his  ges 
ture  of  be-spectacling  himself.  "  This  is  most  astound 
ing,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "  It  is  most — most " 

"  Gratifying?  "  suggested  Norman  with  a  sardonic 
grin. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  Frederick.  The  very  reverse — 
the  exact  reverse." 

Norman  gave  a  shrug  that  said  "  Why  do  you  per 
sist  in  those  frauds — and  with  me?  "  But  he  did  not 
speak. 

"  I  know,"  pursued  Lockyer,  "  that  you  would  not 
have  taken  this  step  without  conclusive  reasons.  And 
I  shall  not  venture  the  impertinence  of  prying  or  of 
urging." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Norman  drily.  "  Now,  as  to  the 
terms  of  settlement." 

Lockyer,  from  observation  and  from  gossip,  had  a 
pretty  shrewd  notion  of  the  state  of  his  young  partner's 
mind,  and  drew  the  not  unwarranted  conclusion  that  he 
would  be  indifferent  about  terms — would  be  "  easy." 
With  the  suavity  of  Mr.  Great-and-Good-Heart  he  said : 
"  My  dear  boy,  there  can't  be  any  question  of  money 
with  us.  We'll  do  the  generously  fair  thing — for,  we're 
not  hucksterers  but  gentlemen." 

261 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  That  sounds  terrifying,"  observed  the  young  man, 
with  a  faint  ironic  smile.  "  I  feel  my  shirt  going  and 
the  cold  winds  whistling  about  my  bare  body.  To  save 
time,  let  me  state  the  terms.  You  want  to  be  rid  of  me. 
I  want  to  go.  It's  a  whim  with  me.  It's  a  necessity  for 
you." 

Lockyer  shifted  uneasily  at  these  evidences  of  unim 
paired  mentality  and  undaunted  spirit. 

"  Here  are  my  terms,"  proceeded  Norman.  "  You 
are  to  pay  me  forty  thousand  a  year  for  five  years — 
unless  I  open  an  office  or  join  another  firm.  In  that 
case,  payments  are  to  cease  from  the  date  of  my  re- 
entering  practice." 

Lockyer  leaned  back  and  laughed  benignantly.  "  My 
dear  Norman,"  he  said  with  a  gently  remonstrant  shake 
of  the  head,  "  those  terms  are  impossible.  Forty  thou 
sand  a  year!  Why  that  is  within  ten  thousand  of  the 
present  share  of  any  of  us  but  you.  It  is  the  income  of 
nearly  three  quarters  of  a  million  at  six  per  cent — of 
a  million  at  four  per  cent !  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Norman,  settling  back  in  his 
chair.  "  Then  I  stand  pat." 

"  Now,  my  dear  Norman,  permit  me  to  propose 
terms  that  are  fair  to  all " 

"  When  I  said  I  stood  pat  I  meant  that  I  would 
stay  on."  His  eyes  laughed  at  Lockyer.  "  I  guess  we 
can  live  without  Burroughs  and  his  dependents.  Maybe 
they  will  find  they  can't  live  without  us."  He  slowly 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


leaned  forward  until,  with  his  forearms  against  the  edge 
of  his  desk,  he  was  concentrating  a  memorable  gaze  upon 
Lockyer.  "  Mr.  Lockyer,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  exer 
cising  my  privilege  as  a  free  man  to  make  a  damn  fool 
of  myself.  I  shall  continue  to  exercise  it  so  long  as  I 
feel  disposed  that  way.  But  let  me  tell  you  something. 
I  can  afford  to  do  it.  If  a  man's  asset  is  money,  or 
character  or  position  or  relatives  and  friends  or  popular 
favor  or  any  other  perishable  article,  he  must  take  care 
how  he  trifles  with  it.  He  may  find  himself  irretrievably 
ruined.  But  my  asset  happens  to  be  none  of  those 
things.  It  is  one  that  can  be  lost  or  damaged  only  by 
insanity  or  death.  Do  you  follow  me?  " 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  the  sincere  and  most 
flattering  tribute  of  compelled  admiration.  "  What  a 
mind  you've  got,  Frederick — and  what  courage !  " 

"  You  accept  my  terms  ?  " 

"  If  the  others  agree — and  I  think  they  will." 

"  They  will,"  said  Norman. 

The  old  man  was  regarding  him  with  eyes  that  had 
genuine  anxiety  in  them.  "  Why  do  you  do  it,  Fred?  " 
he  said. 

"  Because  I  wish  to  be  free,"  replied  Norman.  He 
would  never  have  told  the  full  truth  to  that  incredulous 
old  cynic  of  a  time-server — the  truth  that  he  was  resign 
ing  at  the  dictation  of  a  pride  which  forbade  him  to 
involve  others  in  the  ruin  he,  in  his  madness,  was  bent 
upon. 

263 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  don't  mean,  why  do  you  resign,"  said  Lockyer. 
"  I  mean  the  other — the — woman." 

Norman  laughed  harshly. 

"  I've  seen  too  much  of  the  world  not  to  under 
stand,"  continued  Lockyer.  "  The  measureless  power 
of  woman  over  man — especially — pardon  me,  my  dear 
Norman — especially  a  bad  woman !  " 

"  The  measureless  power  of  a  man's  imagination 
over  himself,"  rejoined  Norman.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
or  hear  of  a  man  without  imagination  being  upset  by 
a  woman?  It's  in  here,  Mr.  Lockyer  " — he  rapped  his 
forehead — "  altogether  in  here." 

"  You  realize  that.  Yet  you  go  on — and  for  such  a 
— pardon  me,  my  boy,  for  saying  it — for  such  a  trifling 
object." 

"  What  does  '  trifling  '  mean,  sir  ?  "  replied  the 
young  man.  "  What  is  trifling  and  what  is  important  ? 
It  depends  upon  the  point  of  view.  What  I  want — 
that  is  vital.  What  I  do  not  want — that  is  paltry. 
It's  my  nature  to  go  for  what  I  happen  to  want — to 
go  for  it  with  all  there  is  in  me.  I  will  take  nothing 
else — nothing  else." 

There  was  in  his  eyes  the  glitter  called  insanity — 
the  glitter  that  reflects  the  state  of  mind  of  any  strong 
man  when  possessed  of  one  of  those  fixed  ideas  that  are 
the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  strong.  It  would  have  been  im 
possible  for  Lockyer  to  be  possessed  in  that  way ;  he 
had  not  the  courage  nor  the  concentration  nor  the  inde- 

264 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


pendence  of  soul;  like  most  men,  even  able  men,  he 
dealt  only  in  the  conventional.  Not  in  his  wildest  youth 
could  he  have  wrecked  or  injured  himself  for  a  woman ; 
women,  for  him,  occupied  their  conventional  place  in  the 
scheme  of  things,  and  had  no  allure  beyond  the  con 
ventionally  proper  and  the  conventionally  improper — • 
for,  be  it  remembered,  vice  has  its  beaten  track  no  less 
than  virtue  and  most  of  the  vicious  are  as  tame  and  un 
imaginative  as  the  plodders  in  the  high  roads  of  pro 
priety.  Still,  Lockyer  had  associated  with  strong  men, 
men  of  boundless  desires ;  thus,  he  could  in  a  measure 
sympathize  with  his  young  associate.  What  a  pity  that 
these  splendid  powers  should  be  perverted  from  the  or 
dinary  desires  of  strong  men ! 

Norman  rose,  to  end  the  interview.  "  My  address  is 
my  house.  They  will  forward — if  I  go  away." 

Lockyer  gave  him  a  hearty  handclasp,  made  a  few 
phrases  about  good  wishes  and  the  like,  left  him  alone. 
The  general  opinion  was  that  Norman  was  done  for. 
But  Lockyer  could  not  see  it.  He  had  seen  too  many 
men  fall  only  to  rise  out  of  lowest  depths  to  greater 
heights  than  they  had  fallen  from.  And  Norman  was 
only  thirty-seven.  Perhaps  this  would  prove  to  be 
merely  a  dip  in  a  securely  brilliant  career  and  not  a  fall 
at  all.  In  that  case — with  such  a  brain,  such  a  genius 
for  the  lawlessness  of  the  law,  what  a  laughing  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mouth  there  might  yet  be  among  young 
Norman's  enemies — and  friends! 

265 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  spent  most  of  the  next  few  days — the  lunch  time, 
the  late  afternoon,  finally  the  early  morning  hours — 
lurking  about  the  Equitable  Building,  in  which  were  the 
offices  of  Pytchley  and  Culver.  As  that  building  had 
entrances  on  four  streets,  the  best  he  could  do  was  to 
walk  round  and  round,  with  an  occasional  excursion 
through  the  corridors  and  past  the  elevators.  He  had 
written  her,  asking  to  see  her;  he  had  got  no  answer. 
He  ceased  to  wait  at  the  elevators  after  he  had  twice 
narrowly  escaped  being  seen  by  Tetlow.  He  was  in 
different  to  Tetlow,  except  as  meeting  him  might  make 
it  harder  to  see  Dorothy.  He  drank  hard.  But  drink 
never  affected  him  except  to  make  him  more  grimly  tena 
cious  in  whatever  he  had  deliberately  and  soberly  re 
solved.  Drink  did  not  explain — neither  wholly  nor  in 
any  part — this  conduct  of  his.  It,  and  the  more  erratic 
vagaries  to  follow,  will  seem  incredible  conduct  for  a  man 
of  Norman's  character  and  position  to  feeble  folk  with 
their  feeble  desires,  their  dread  of  criticism  and  ridicule, 
their  exaggerated  and  adoring  notions  of  the  master 
men.  In  fact,  it  was  the  natural  outcome  of  the  man's 
nature — arrogant,  contemptuous  of  his  fellowmen  and 
of  their  opinions,  and,  like  all  the  master  men,  capable 
of  such  concentration  upon  a  desire  that  he  would  adopt 
any  means,  high  or  low,  dignified  or  the  reverse,  if  only 
it  promised  to  further  his  end.  Fred  Norman,  at  these 
vulgar  vigils,  took  the  measure  of  his  own  self-abasement 
to  a  hair's  breadth.  But  he  kept  on,  with  the  fever  of 

266 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


his  infatuation  burning  like  a  delirium,  burning  higher 
and  deeper  with  each  baffled  day. 

At  noon,  one  day,  as  he  swung  into  Broadway  from 
Cedar  street,  he  ran  straight  into  Tetlow.  It  was  rain 
ing  and  his  umbrella  caught  in  Tetlow's.  It  was  a 
ludicrous  situation,  but  there  was  no  answering  smile  in 
his  former  friend's  eyes.  Tetlow  glowered. 

"  I've  heard  you  were  hanging  about,"  he  said. 
"  How  low  you  have  sunk !  " 

Norman  laughed  in  his  face.  "  Poor  Tetlow,"  he 
said.  "  I  never  expected  to  see  you  develop  into  a  cru 
sader.  And  what  a  Don  Quixote  you  look.  Cheer  up, 
old  man.  Don't  take  it  so  hard." 

"  I  warn  you  to  keep  away  from  her,"  said  Tetlow 
in  subdued,  tense  tones,  his  fat  face  quivering  with  emo 
tion.  "  Hasn't  she  shown  you  plainly  that  she'll  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  only  five  minutes'  talk  with  her,  Tetlow," 
said  Norman,  dropping  into  an  almost  pleading  tone. 
"  And  I  guarantee  I'll  say  nothing  you  wouldn't  ap 
prove,  if  you  heard.  You  are  advising  her  badly.  You 
are  doing  her  an  injury." 

"  I  am  protecting  her  from  a  scoundrel,"  retorted 
Tetlow. 

"  She'll  not  thank  you  for  it,  when  she  finds  out  the 
truth." 

"  You  can  write  to  her.  What  a  shallow  liar  you 
are!" 

267 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  cannot  write  what  I  must  say,"  said  Norman.  It 
had  never  been  difficult  for  him,  however  provoked,  to 
keep  his  temper — outwardly.  Tetlow's  insults  were  to 
him  no  more  than  the  barkings  of  a  watch  dog,  and 
one  not  at  all  dangerous,  but  only  amusing.  "  I  must 
see  her.  If  you  are  her  friend,  and  not  merely  a  jealous, 
disappointed  lover,  you'll  advise  her  to  see  me." 

"  You  shall  not  see  her,  if  I  can  help  it,"  cried  his 
former  friend.  "  And  if  you  persist  in  annoying 
her " 

"  Don't  make  futile  threats,  Tetlow,"  Norman  inter 
rupted.  "  You've  done  me  all  the  mischief  you  can  do. 
I  see  you  hate  me  for  the  injuries  you've  done  me.  That's 
the  way  it  always  is.  But  I  don't  hate  you.  It  was  at 
my  suggestion  that  the  Lockyer  firm  is  trying  to  get 
you  back  as  a  partner."  Then,  as  Tetlow  colored — 
"  Oh,  I  see  you're  accepting  their  offer." 

"  If  I  had  thought " 

"  Nonsense.  You're  not  a  fool.  How  does  it  matter 
whose  the  hand,  if  only  it's  a  helping  hand?  And  you 
may  be  sure  they'd  never  have  made  you  the  offer  if  they 
didn't  need  you  badly.  All  the  credit  I  claim  is  having 
the  intelligence  to  enlighten  their  stupidity  with  the 
right  suggestion." 

In  spite  of  himself  Tetlow  was  falling  under  the  spell 
of  Norman's  personality,  of  the  old  and  deep  admiration 
the  lesser  man  had  for  the  greater. 

"  Norman,"  he  said,  "  how  can  you  be  such  a  com- 
268 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


bination  of  bigness  and  petty  deviltry?  You  are  a 
monster  of  self-indulgence.  It's  a  God's  mercy  there 
aren't  more  men  with  your  selfishness  and  your  desires." 

Norman  laughed  sardonically.  "  The  difference  be 
tween  me  and  most  men,"  said  he,  "  isn't  in  selfishness 
or  in  desires,  but  in  courage.  Courage,  Billy — there's 
what  most  of  you  lack.  And  even  in  courage  I'm  not 
alone.  My  sort  fill  most  of  the  high  places." 

Tetlow  looked  dismal  confession  of  a  fear  that  Nor 
man  was  right. 

"  Yes,"  pursued  Norman,  "  in  this  country  there  are 
enough  wolves  to  attend  to  pretty  nearly  all  the  sheep — 
though  it's  amazing  how  much  mutton  there  is."  With 
an  abrupt  shift  from  raillery,  "  You'll  help  me  with  her, 
Billy?" 

"  Why  don't  you  let  her  alone,  Fred?  "  pleaded  Tet 
low.  "  It  isn't  worthy  of  you — a  big  man  like  you.  Let 
her  alone,  Fred ! — the  poor  child,  trying  to  earn  her  own 
living  in  an  honest  way." 

"  Let  her  alone  ?  Tetlow,  I  shall  never  let  her  alone 
— as  long  as  she  and  I  are  both  alive." 

The  fat  man,  with  his  premature  wrinkles  and  his 
solemn  air  of  law  books  that  look  venerable  though  fresh 
from  the  press,  took  on  an  added  pastiness.  "  Fred — for 
God's  sake,  can't  you  love  her  in  a  noble  way — a  way 
worthy  of  you?  " 

Norman  gave  him  a  penetrating  glance.  "  Is  love — 
such  love  as  mine — and  yours —  There  Tetlow  flushed 

269 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


guiltily — "  is  it  ever  noble? — whatever  that  means.  No, 
it's  human — human.  But  I'm  not  trying  to  harm  her. 
I  give  you  my  word.  .  .  .  Will  you  help  me — and  her  ?  " 

Tetlow  hesitated.  His  heavy  cheeks  quivered.  "  I 
don't  trust  you,"  he  cried  violently — the  violence  of  a 
man  fighting  against  an  enemy  within.  "  Don't  ever 
speak  to  me  again."  And  he  rushed  away  through  the 
rain,  knocking  umbrellas  this  way  and  that. 

About  noon  two  days  later,  as  Norman  was  making 
one  of  his  excursions  past  the  Equitable  elevators,  he 
saw  Bob  Culver  at  the  news  stand.  It  so  happened  that 
as  he  recognized  Culver,  Culver  cast  in  the  direction  of 
the  elevators  the  sort  of  look  that  betrays  a  man  waiting 
for  a  woman.  Unseen  by  Culver,  Norman  stopped  short. 
Into  his  face  blazed  the  fury  of  suspicion,  jealousy,  and 
hate — one  of  the  cyclones  of  passion  that  swept  him 
from  time  to  time  and  revealed  to  his  own  appalled  self 
the  full  intensity  of  his  feeling,  the  full  power  of  the 
demon  that  possessed  him.  Culver  was  of  those  glossy, 
black  men  who  are  beloved  of  women.  He  was  much 
handsomer  than  Norman,  who,  indeed,  was  not  handsome 
at  all,  but  was  regarded  a£  handsome  because  he  had 
the  air  of  great  distinction.  Many  times  these  two 
young  men  had  been  pitted  against  each  other  in  legal 
battles.  Every  time  Norman  had  won.  Twice  they  had 
contended  for  the  favor  of  the  same  lady.  Each  had 
scored  once.  But  as  Culver's  victory  was  merely  for  a 
very  light  and  empty-headed  lady  of  the  stage  while  he 

270 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


had  won  Josephine  Burroughs  away  from  Culver,  the 
balance  was  certainly  not  against  him. 

As  Norman  slipped  back  and  into  the  cross  corridor 
to  avoid  meeting  Culver,  Dorothy  Hallowell  hurried  from 
a  just  descended  elevator  and,  with  a  quick,  frightened 
glance  toward  Culver,  in  profile,  almost  ran  toward 
Norman.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  only  one  thought 
— to  escape  being  seen  by  her  new  employer.  When  she 
realized  that  some  one  was  standing  before  her  and 
moved  to  one  side  to  pass,  she  looked  up.  "  Oh !  "  she 
gasped,  starting  back.  And  then  she  stood  there  white 
and  shaking. 

"  Is  that  beast  Culver  hounding  you  ?  "  demanded 
Norman. 

She  recovered  herself  quickly.  With  flashing  eyes, 
she  cried :  "  How  dare  you !  How  dare  you !  " 

Norman,  possessed  by  his  rage  against  Culver,  paid 
no  attention.  "  If  he  don't  let  you  alone,"  he  said,  "  I'll 
thrash  him  into  a  hospital  for  six  months.  You  must 
leave  his  office  at  once.  You'll  not  go  back  there." 

"  You  must  be  crazy,"  replied  she,  calm  again. 
"  I've  no  complaint  to  make  of  the  way  I'm  being 
treated,  I  never  was  so  well  off  in  my  life.  And  Mr. 
Culver  is  very  kind  and  polite." 

"  You  know  what  that  means,"  said  Norman  harshly. 

"  Everyone  isn't  like  you,"  retorted  she. 

He  was  examining  her  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  to 
make  sure  that  it  was  she  with  no  charm  missing.  He 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


noted  that  she  was  much  less  poorly  dressed  than  when 
she  worked  for  his  firm.  In  those  days  she  often  looked 
dowdy,  showed  plainly  the  girl  who  has  to  make  a  hasty 
toilet  in  a  small  bedroom,  with  tiny  wash-stand  and 
looking-glass,  in  the  early,  coldest  hours  of  a  cold  morn 
ing.  Now  she  looked  well  taken  care  of  physically,  not 
so  well,  not  anything  like  so  well  as  the  women  uptown — 
the  ladies  with  nothing  to  do  but  make  toilettes ;  still, 
unusually  well  looked  after  for  a  working  girl.  At  first 
glance  after  those  famished  and  ravening  days  of  long 
ing  for  her  and  seeking  her,  she  before  him  in  rather 
dim  reality  of  the  obvious  office-girl,  seemed  disappoint 
ing.  It  could  not  be  that  this  insignificance  was  the 
cause  of  all  his  fever  and  turmoil.  He  began  to  hope 
that  he  was  recovering,  that  the  cloud  of  insane  desire 
was  clearing  from  his  sky.  But  a  second  glance  killed 
that  hope.  For,  once  more  he  saw  her  mystery,  her 
beauties  that  revealed  their  perfection  and  splendor  only 
to  the  observant. 

While  he  looked  she  was  regaining  her  balance,  as 
the  fading  color  in  her  white  skin  and  the  subsidence 
of  the  excitement  in  her  eyes  evidenced.  "  Let  me  pass, 
please,"  she  said  coldly — for,  she  was  against  the  wall 
with  him  standing  before  her  in  such  a  way  that  she 
could  not  go  until  he  moved  aside. 

"  We'll  lunch  together,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  talk 
with  you.  Did  that  well-meaning  ass — Tetlow — tell 
you?" 

272 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  There  is  nothing  you  can  say  that  I  wish  to  hear," 
was  her  quiet  reply. 

"  Your  eyes — the  edges  of  the  lids  are  red.  You  have 
been  crying  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  glance  to  his  and  he  had  the  sense  of  a 
veil  drawing  aside  to  reveal  a  desolation.  "  For  my 
father,"  she  said. 

His  face  flushed.  He  looked  steadily  at  her.  "  Now 
that  he  is  gone,  you  have  no  one  to  protect  you.  I 
am " 

"  I  need  no  one,"  said  she  with  a  faintly  contempt 
uous  smile. 

"  You  do  need  some  one — and  I  am  going  to  under 
take  it." 

Her  face  lighted  up.  He  thought  it  was  because  of 
what  he  had  said.  But  she  immediately  undeceived  him. 
She  said  in  a  tone  of  delighted  relief,  "  Here  comes  Mr. 
Tetlow.  You  must  excuse  me." 

"  Dorothy — listen !  "  he  cried.  "  We  are  going  to 
be  married  at  once." 

The  words  exploded  dizzily  in  his  ears.  He  assumed 
they  would  have  a  far  more  powerful  effect  upon  her. 
But  her  expression  did  not  change.  "  No,"  she  said 
hastily.  "  I  must  go  with  Mr.  Tetlow."  Tetlow  was 
now  at  hand,  his  heavy  face  almost  formidable  in  its  dark 
ferocity.  She  said  to  him :  "  I  was  waiting  for  you. 
Come  on." 

Norman  turned  eagerly  to  his  former  friend.  He 
273 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


said:  "  Tetlow,  I  have  just  asked  Miss  Hallo  well  to  be 
my  wife." 

Tetlow  stared.  Then  pain  and  despair  seemed  to 
flood  and  ravage  his  whole  body. 

"  I  told  you  the  other  day,"  Norman  went  on,  "  that 
I  was  ready  to  do  the  fair  thing.  I  have  just  been  say 
ing  to  Miss  Hallowell  that  she  must  have  some  one  to 
protect  her.  You  agree  with  me,  don't  you?  " 

Tetlow,  fumbling  vaguely  with  his  watch  chain, 
gazed  straight  ahead.  "  Yes,"  he  said  with  an  effort. 
"  Yes,  you  are  right,  Norman.  An  office  is  no  place  for 
an  attractive  girl  as  young  as  she  is." 

"  Has  Culver  been  annoying  her  ?  "  inquired  Nor 
man. 

Tetlow  started.  "  Ah— she's  told  you— has  she?  I 
rather  hoped  she  hadn't  noticed  or  understood." 

Both  men  now  looked  at  the  girl.  She  had  shrunk 
into  herself  until  she  was  almost  as  dim  and  unimpressive, 
as  cipher-like  as  when  Norman  first  beheld  her.  Also 
she  seemed  at  least  five  years  less  than  her  twenty. 
"  Dorothy,"  said  Norman,  "  you  will  let  me  take  care  of 
you — won't  you?  " 

"  No,"  she  said — and  the  word  carried  all  the  quiet 
force  she  was  somehow  able  to  put  into  her  short,  direct 
answers. 

Tetlow's  pasty  sallowness  took  on  a  dark  red  tinge. 
He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  You  don't  understand, 
Miss  Dorothy,"  he  said.  "  He  wants  to  marry  you." 

274 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  understand  perfectly,"  replied  she,  with  the  far 
away  look  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  But  I'll  not  marry  him. 
I  despise  him.  He  frightens  me.  He  sickens  me." 

Norman  clinched  his  hands  and  the  muscles  of  his 
jaw  in  the  effort  to  control  himself.  "  Dorothy,"  he 
said,  "  I've  not  acted  as  I  should.  Tetlow  will  tell  you 
that  there  is  good  excuse  for  me.  I  know  you  don't 
understand  about  those  things — about  the  ways  of  the 
world " 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  she  interrupted.  "  It's 
you  that  don't  understand.  I  never  saw  anyone  so  con 
ceited.  Haven't  I  told  you  I  don't  love  you,  and  don't 
want  anything  to  do  with  you?  " 

Tetlow,  lover  though  he  was — or  perhaps  because  he 
was  lover,  of  the  hopeless  kind  that  loves  generously — 
could  not  refrain  from  protest.  The  girl  was  flinging 
away  a  dazzling  future.  It  wasn't  fair  to  her  to  let  her 
do  it  when  if  she  appreciated  she  would  be  overwhelmed 
with  joy  and  gratitude.  "  I  believe  you  ought  to  listen 
to  Norman,  Miss  Dorothy,"  he  said  pleadingly.  "  At 
any  rate,  think  it  over — don't  answer  right  away.  He 
is  making  you  an  honorable  proposal — one  that's  ad 
vantageous  in  every  way " 

Dorothy  regarded  him  with  innocent  eyes,  wide  and 
wondering.  "  I  didn't  think  you  could  talk  like  that, 
Mr.  Tetlow  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  heard  what  I  said 
to  him — about  the  way  I  felt.  How  could  I  be  his  wife  ? 
He  tried  everything  else — and,  now,  though  he's  ashamed 

275 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


of  it,  he's  trying  to  get  me  by  marriage.  Oh,  I  under 
stand.  I  wish  I  didn't.  I'd  not  feel  so  low."  She  looked 
at  Norman.  "  Can't  you  realize  ever  that  I  don't  want 
any  of  the  grand  things  you're  so  crazy  about — that  I 
want  something  very  different — something  yaw  could 
never  give  me — or  get  for  me?  " 

"  Isn't  there  anything  I  can  do,  Dorothy,  to  make 
you  forget  and  forgive?  "  he  cried,  like  a  boy,  an  in 
fatuated  boy.  "  For  God's  sake,  Tetlow,  help  me!  Tell 
her  I'm  not  so  rotten  as  she  thinks.  I'll  be  anything  you 
like,  my  darling — anything — if  only  you'll  take  me. 
For  I  must  have  you.  You're  the  only  thing  in  the 
world  I  care  for — and,  without  you,  I've  no  interest  in 
life — none — none !  " 

He  was  so  impassioned  that  passersby  began  to 
observe  them  curiously.  Tetlow  became  uneasy.  But 
Norman  and  Dorothy  were  unconscious  of  what  was  go 
ing  on  around  them.  The  energy  of  his  passion  com 
pelled  her,  though  the  passion  itself  was  unwelcome. 
"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said  gently.  "  Though  you  would  have 
hurt  me,  if  you  could,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you.  .  .  . 
I'm  sorry.  I  can't  love  you.  .  .  .  I'm  sorry.  Come  on, 
Mr.  Tetlow." 

Norman  stood  aside.  She  and  Tetlow  went  on  out  of 
the  building.  He  remained  in  the  same  place,  oblivious 
of  the  crowd  streaming  by,  each  man  or  woman  with  a 
glance  at  his  vacant  stare. 


XIV 


THAN  Fred  Norman  no  man  ever  had  better  reason 
to  feel  securely  entrenched  upon  the  heights  of  success. 
It  was  no  silly  vaunt  of  optimism  for  him  to  tell  Lock- 
yer  that  only  loss  of  life  or  loss  of  mind  could  dislodge 
him.  And  a  few  days  after  Dorothy  had  extinguished 
the  last  spark  of  hope  he  got  ready  to  pull  himself 
together  and  show  the  world  that  it  was  indulging  too 
soon  in  its  hypocritical  headshakings  over  his  ruin. 

"  I  am  going  to  open  an  office  of  my  own  at  once," 
he  said  to  his  sister. 

She  did  not  wish  to  discourage  him,  but  she  could 
not  altogether  keep  her  thoughts  from  her  face.  She 
had,  in  a  general  way,  a  clear  idea  of  the  complete  sys 
tem  of  tollgates,  duly  equipped  with  strong  barriers, 
which  the  mighty  few  have  established  across  practi 
cally  all  the  highroads  to  material  success.  Also,  she 
felt  in  her  brother's  manner  and  tone  a  certain  pro 
found  discouragement,  a  lack  of  the  unconquerable 
spirit  which  had  carried  him  so  far  so  speedily.  It  is 
not  a  baseless  notion  that  the  man  who  has  never  been 
beaten  is  often  destroyed  by  his  first  reverse.  Ursula 
feared  the  spell  of  success  had  been  broken  for  him. 

277 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You  mean,"  she  suggested,  with  apparent  careless 
ness,  "  that  you  will  give  up  your  forty  thousand  a 
year?" 

He  made  a  disdainful  gesture.  "  I  can  make  more 
than  that,"  said  he.  "  It's  a  second  rate  lawyer  who 
can't  in  this  day." 

"  Of  course  you  can,"  replied  she  tactfully,  "  But 
why  not  take  a  rest  first?  Then  there's  old  Bui  roughs 
— on  the  war  path.  Wouldn't  it  be  wise  to  wait  till 
he  calms  down  ?  " 

"  If  Burroughs  or  any  other  man  is  necessary  to 
me,"  rejoined  Fred,  "  the  sooner  I  find  it  out  the  better. 
I  ought  to  know  just  where  I — I  myself — stand." 

"  No  one  is  necessary  to  you  but  yourself,"  said 
Ursula,  proudly  and  sincerely.  "  But,  Fred —  Are 
you  yourself  just  now?  " 

"No,  I'm  not,"  admitted  he.  "But  the  way  to 
become  so  again  isn't  by  waiting  but  by  working."  An 
expression  of  sheer  wretchedness  came  into  his  listless, 
heavy  eyes.  "  Urse,  I've  got  to  conquer  my  weakness 
now,  or  go  under." 

She  was  eager  to  hold  on  to  the  secure  forty  thou 
sand  a  year — for  his  sake  no  less  than  for  her  own. 
She  argued  with  him  with  all  the  adroitness  of  a  mind 
as  good  in  its  way  as  his  own.  But  she  could  not  shake 
his  resolution.  And  she  in  prudence,  desisted  when  he 
said  bitterly :  "  I  see  you've  lost  confidence  in  me. 
Well,  I  don't  blame  you.  ...  So  have  I."  Then  after 

278 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


a  moment,  violently  rather  than  strongly :  "  But  I've 
got  to  get  it  back.  If  I  don't  I'm  only  putting  off  the 
smash — a  complete  smash." 

"  I  don't  see  quite  how  it's  to  be  arranged,"  said 
she,  red  and  hesitating.  For,  she  feared  he  would 
think  her  altogether  selfish  in  her  anxiety.  He  cer 
tainly  would  have  been  justified  in  so  thinking;  he  knew 
how  rarely  generosity  survived  in  the  woman  who  leads 
the  soft  and  idle  life. 

"  How  long  can  we  keep  on  as  we're  living  now — 
if  there's  nothing,  or  little,  coming  in  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  confessed  she.  She  was  as  poor  at 
finance  as  he,  and  had  certainly  not  been  improved  by 
his  habit  of  giving  her  whatever  she  happened  to  think 
was  necessary.  "  I  can't  say.  Perhaps  a  few  months — 
I  don't  know —  Not  long,  I'm  afraid." 

"Six  months?" 

"  Oh,  no.  You  see — the  fact  is — I've  been  rather 
careless  about  the  bills.  You're  so  generous,  Fred — 
and  one  is  so  busy  in  New  York.  I  guess  we  owe  a 
good  deal — here  and  there  and  yonder.  And — the  last 
few  days  some  of  the  tradespeople  have  been  pressing 
for  payment." 

"  You  see !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  The  report  is  going 
round  that  I'm  ruined  and  done  for.  I've  simply  got 
to  make  good.  If  you  can't  keep  up  a  front,  shut  up 
the  house  and  go  abroad.  You  can  stay  till  I've  got 
my  foot  back  on  its  neck." 

279 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  believed  in  him,  at  bottom.  She  could  not  con 
ceive  how  appearances  and  her  forebodings  could  be 
true.  Such  strength  as  his  could  not  be  overwhelmed 
thus  suddenly.  And  by  so  slight  a  thing! — by  an  un 
satisfied  passion  for  a  woman,  and  an  insignificant 
woman,  at  that.  For,  like  all  women,  like  all  the  world 
for  that  matter,  she  measured  a  passion  by  the  woman 
who  was  the  object  of  it,  instead  of  by  the  man  who 
fabricated  it.  "  Yes — I'll  go  abroad,"  said  she,  hope 
fully. 

"  Quietly  arrange  for  a  long  stay,"  he  advised.  "  I 
hope  it  won't  be  long.  But  I  never  plan  on  hope." 

Thus,  with  his  sister  and  Fitzhugh  out  of  the  way 
and  the  heaviest  of  his  burdens  of  expense  greatly  light 
ened,  he  set  about  rehabitating  himself.  He  took  an 
office,  waited  for  clients.  And  clients  came — excellent 
clients.  Came  and  precipitately  left  him. 

There  were  two  reasons  for  it.  The  first — the  one 
most  often  heard — was  the  story  going  round  that  he 
had  been,  and  probably  still  was,  out  of  his  mind.  No 
deadlier  or  crueler  weapon  can  be  used  against  a  man 
than  that  same  charge  as  to  his  sanity.  It  has  been 
known  to  destroy,  or  seriously  maim,  brilliant  and  able 
men  with  no  trace  of  any  of  the  untrustworthy  kinds  of 
insanity.  Where  the  man's  own  conduct  gives  color  to 
the  report,  the  attack  is  usually  mortal.  And  Norman 
had  acted  the  crazy  man.  The  second  reason  was  the 
hostility  of  Burroughs,  reinforced  by  all  the  hatreds 

280 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  jealousies  Norman's  not  too  respectful  way  of  deal 
ing  with  his  fellow  men  had  been  creating  through  fif 
teen  years. 

The  worst  moment  in  the  life  of  a  man  who  has 
always  proudly  regarded  himself  as  above  any  need 
whatever  from  his  fellow  men  is  when  he  discovers  all 
in  a  flash,  that  the  timid  animal  he  spurned  as  it  fawned 
has  him  upon  his  back,  has  its  teeth  and  claws  at  his 
helpless  throat. 

For  four  months  he  stood  out  against  the  isolation, 
the  suspicion  as  to  his  sanity,  the  patronizing  pity  of 
men  who  but  a  little  while  before  had  felt  honored  when 
he  spoke  to  them.  For  four  months  he  gave  battle  to 
unseen  and  silent  foes  compassing  him  on  every  side. 
He  had  no  spirit  for  the  fight;  his  love  of  Dorothy 
Hallowell  and  his  complete  rout  there  had  taken  the 
spirit  out  of  him — and  with  it  had  gone  that  confidence 
in  himself  and  in  his  luck  which  had  won  him  so  many 
critical  battles.  Then —  He  had  been  keeping  up  a 
large  suite  of  offices,  a  staff  of  clerks  and  stenographers 
and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  great  and  successful 
lawyer.  He  had  been  spreading  out  the  little  business 
he  got  in  a  not  unsuccessful  effort  to  make  it  appear 
big  and  growing.  He  now  gave  up  these  offices  and 
the  costly  pride,  pomp  and  circumstance — left  with  sev 
eral  thousand  dollars  owing.  He  took  two  small  rooms 
in  a  building  tenanted  by  beginners  and  cheap  shysters. 
He  continued  to  live  at  his  club,  where  even  the  servants 

281 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


were  subtly  insolent  to  him ;  he  could  see  the  time  ap 
proaching  when  he  might  have  to  let  himself  be  dropped 
for  failing  to  pay  dues  and  bills. 

He  stared  at  his  ruin  in  stupid  and  dazed  amaze 
ment.  Usually,  to  hear  or  to  read  about  such  a  catas 
trophe  as  this  is  to  get  a  vague,  rather  impressive 
notion  of  something  picturesque  and  romantic.  Ruined, 
like  all  the  big  fateful  words,  has  a  dignified  sound. 
But  the  historians  and  novelists  and  poets  and  other 
keepers  of  human  records  have  a  pleasant,  but  not  very 
honest  way,  of  omitting  practically  all  the  essentials 
from  their  records  and  substituting  glittering  imagin 
ings  that  delight  the  reader — and  wofully  mislead  him 
as  to  the  truth  about  life.  What  wonder  that  we 
learn  slowly — and  improve  slowly.  How  wofully  we 
have  been,  and  are,  misled  by  all  upon  whom  we  have 
relied  as  teachers. 

Already  one  of  these  charming  tales  of  majestic 
downfall  was  in  process  of  manufacture,  with  Frederick 
Norman  as  the  central  figure.  It  was  only  awaiting 
his  suicide  or  some  other  mode  of  complete  submergence 
for  its  final  glose  of  glamor.  In  this  manufacture,  the 
truth,  as  usual,  had  been  almost  omitted ;  such  truth  as 
was  retained  for  this  artistic  version  of  a  human  hap 
pening  was  so  perverted  that  it  was  falser  than  the 
simon  pure  fictions  with  which  it  was  interwoven.  Just 
as  the  literal  truth  about  his  success  was  far  from  being 
altogether  to  his  credit,  so  the  literal  truth  as  to  his  fall 

282 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


gave  him  little  of  the  vesture  of  the  hero,  and  that 
little  ill  fitting,  to  cover  his  naked  humanness.  Let 
him  who  has  risen  to  material  success  altogether  by 
methods  approved  by  the  idealists,  let  him  who  has 
fallen  from  on  high  with  graceful  majesty,  without 
hysterical  clutchings  and  desperate  attempts  at  self- 
salvation  in  disregard  of  the  safety  of  others — let  either 
of  these  superhuman  beings  come  forward  with  the  first 
stone  for  Norman. 

Those  at  some  distance  from  the  falling  man  could 
afford  to  be  romantic  and  piteous  over  his  fate.  Those 
in  his  dangerous  neighborhood  were  too  busy  getting 
out  of  the  way.  "  Man  falling — stand  from  under !  " 
was  the  cry — how  familiar  it  is! — and  acquaintances 
and  friends  fled  in  mad  skedaddle.  He  would  surely  be 
asking  favors — would  be  trying  to  borrow  money.  It 
is  no  peculiarity  of  rats  to  desert  a  sinking  ship;  it  is 
simply  an  inevitable  precaution  in  a  social  system  mod 
eled  as  yet  upon  nature's  cruel  law  of  the  survival  of 
the  fittest.  A  falling  man  is  first  of  all  a  warning  to 
all  other  men  high  enough  up  to  be  able  to  fall — a 
warning  to  them  to  take  care  lest  they  fall  also  where 
footing  is  so  insecure  and  precipices  and  steeps  beset 
every  path. 

Norman,  falling,  falling,  gazed  round  him  and  up 

and  down,  in  dazed  wonder.     He  had  seen  many  others 

fall.     He  had  seen  just  where  and  just  why  they  missed 

their  footing.    And  he  had  been  confident  that  with  him 

10  283 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


no  such  misstep  was  possible.  He  could  not  believe;  a 
little  while,  and  luck  would  turn,  and  up  he  would  go 
again — higher  than  before.  Many  a  lawyer — to  look 
no  farther  than  his  own  profession — had  through  reck 
lessness  or  pride  or  inadvertence  got  the  big  men  down 
on  him.  But  after  a  time  they  had  relented  or  had 
found  an  exact  use  for  him ;  and  fall  had  been  succeeded 
by  rise.  Was  there  a  single  instance  where  a  man  of 
good  brain  had  been  permanently  downed?  No,  not 
one.  Stay —  Some  of  these  unfortunates  had  failed  to 
reappear  an  the  heights  of  success.  Yes,  thinking  of 
the  matter,  he  recalled  several  such.  Had  he  been  alto 
gether  right  in  assuming,  in  his  days  of  confidence  and 
success,  that  they  stayed  down  because  they  belonged 
down?  Perhaps  he  had  judged  them  harshly?  Yes, 
he  was  sure  he  had  judged  them  harshly.  There  was 
such  a  thing  as  breaking  a  proud  spirit — and  he  found 
within  himself  apparent  proof  that  precisely  this  calam 
ity  had  befallen  him. 

There  came  a  time — and  it  came  soon — when  he  had 
about  exhausted  his  desperate  ingenuity  at  cornering 
acquaintances  and  former  friends  and  "  sticking  them 
up  "  for  loans  of  five  hundred,  a  hundred,  fifty,  twenty- 
five —  Because  these  vulgar  and  repulsive  facts  are  not 
found  in  the  usual  records  of  the  men  who  have  dropped 
and  come  up  again,  do  not  imagine  that  only  the  hope 
less  and  never-reappearing  failures  pass  through  such 
experiences.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  part  of  the 

284 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


common  human  lot,  and  few  indeed  are  the  men  who 
have  not  had  them — and  worse — if  they  could  but  be 
brought  to  tell  the  truth.  Destiny  rarely  permits  any 
one  of  us  to  go  from  cradle  to  grave  without  doing 
many  a  thing  shameful  and  universally  condemned. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  under  our  social  system? 
When  Norman  was  about  at  the  end  of  all  his  resources 
Tetlow  called  on  him — Tetlow,  now  a  partner  in  the 
Lockyer  firm. 

He  came  with  an  air  of  stealth.  "  I  don't  want 
anyone  to  know  I'm  doing  this,"  said  he  frankly.  "  If 
it  got  out,  I'd  be  damaged  and  you'd  not  profit." 

Rarely  does  anyone,  however  unworthy —  and  Fred 
Norman  was  far  from  unworthy,  as  we  humans  go — 
rarely  does  anyone  find  himself  absolutely  without  a 
friend.  There  is  a  saying  that  no  man  ever  sunk  so 
low,  ever  became  so  vile  and  squalid  in  soul  and  body, 
but  that  if  he  were  dying,  and  the  fact  were  noised 
throughout  the  world,  some  woman  somewhere  would 
come — perhaps  from  a  sense  of  duty,  perhaps  from 
love,  perhaps  for  the  sake  of  a  moment  of  happiness 
long  past  but  never  equaled,  and  so  never  forgotten — 
but  from  whatever  motive,  she  would  come.  In  the 
same  manner,  anyone  in  dire  straits  can  be  sure  of  some 
friend.  There  were  several  others  whom  Norman  had 
been  expecting — men  he  had  saved  by  his  legal  inge 
nuity  at  turning  points  in  their  careers.  None  of 
these  was  so  imprudent  as  uselessly  to  involve  himself. 

285 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


It  was  Tetlow  who  came — Tetlow,  with  whom  his  ac 
counts  were  more  than  balanced,  with  the  balance 
against  him.  Tetlow,  whom  he  did  not  expect. 

Norman  did  not  welcome  him  effusively.  He  said 
at  once:  "How  is— she?" 

Tetlow  shifted  uneasily.  "  I  don't  know.  She's  not 
with  us.  I  gave  her  a  place  there — to  get  her  away 
from  Culver.  But  she  didn't  stay  long.  No  doubt  she's 
doing  well." 

"  I  thought  you  cared  about  her,"  said  Norman, 
who  in  estimating  Tetlow's  passion  had  measured  it  by 
his  own,  had  neglected  to  consider  that  the  desires  of 
most  men  soon  grow  short  of  breath  and  weary  of  leg. 

"  Yes — so  I  did  care  for  her,"  said  Tetlow,  in  the 
voice  of  a  man  who  has  been  ill  but  is  now  well.  "  But 
that's  all  over.  Women  aren't  worth  bothering  about 
much.  They're  largely  vanity.  The  way  they  soon 
take  a  man  for  granted  if  he's  at  all  kind  to  them  dis 
courages  any  but  the  poorest  sort  of  fool.  At  least 
that's  my  opinion." 

"Then  you  don't  come  from  her?"  said  Norman 
with  complete  loss  of  interest  in  his  caller. 

"  No.  I've  come —  Fred,  I  hear  you're  in  dif 
ficulties." 

Norman's  now  deep-set  eyes  gleamed  humorously  in 
his  haggard  and  f ailed-looking  face.  "  In  difficulties  ? 
Not  at  all.  I'm  under  them — drowned  forty  fathoms 
deep." 

tat 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Then  you'll  not  resent  my  coming  straight  to  the 
point  and  asking  if  I  can  help  you  ?  " 

"  That's  a  rash  offer,  Tetlow.  I  never  suspected 
rashness  was  one  of  your  qualities." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  offer  you  a  loan  or  anything  of 
that  sort,"  pursued  Tetlow.  "  There's  only  one  thing 
that  can  help  a  man  in  your  position.  He  must  either 
be  saved  outright  or  left  to  drown.  I've  come  with 
something  that  may  save  you." 

There  was  so  much  of  the  incongruous  in  a  situation 
where  he  was  listening  to  an  offer  of  salvation  from 
such  a  man  as  Billy  Tetlow  that  Norman  smiled. 
"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  said. 

"  There's  a  chance  that  within  six  months  or  so — 
perhaps  sooner — Burroughs  and  Galloway  may  end 
their  truce  and  declare  war  on  each  other.  If  so,  Gal 
loway  will  win.  Anyhow,  the  Galloway  connection  would 
be  better  than  the  Burroughs  connection." 

Norman  looked  at  Tetlow  shrewdly.  "  How  do  you 
know  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

Tetlow's  eyes  shifted.  "  Can't  tell  you.  But  I 
know." 

"  Galloway  hates  me." 

Tetlow  nodded.  "You  were  the  one  who  forced 
him  into  a  position  where  he  had  to  make  peace  with 
Burroughs.  But  Galloway's  a  big  man,  big  enough  to 
admire  ability  wherever  he  sees  it.  He  has  admired 
you  ever  since." 

287 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  And  has  given  his  business  to  another  firm." 

"  But  if  the  break  comes  he'll  need  you.  And  he's 
the  sort  of  man  who  doesn't  hesitate  to  take  what  he 
needs." 

"  Too  remote,"  said  Norman,  and  his  despondent 
gesture  showed  how  quickly  hope  had  lighted  up.  "  Be 
sides,  Billy,  I've  lost  my  nerve.  I'm  no  good." 

"  But  you've  gotten  over  that — that  attack  of  in 
sanity." 

Norman  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  ejaculated  Tetlow. 

"  Of  course  you  can't,"  said  Norman.  "  But — 
there  it  is." 

"  You  haven't  seen  her  lately?  " 

"Not  since  that  day  ...  Billy,  she  hasn't—" 
Norman  stopped,  and  Tetlow  saw  that  his  hands  were 
trembling  with  agitation,  and  marveled. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Tetlow.  "  So  far  as  I  know, 
she's  still  respectable.  But — why  don't  you  go  to  see 
her?  I  think  you'd  be  cured." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  demanded  Norman,  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  bulging  with  the  fury  he  was  ready 
to  release. 

"  For  no  especial  reason — on  my  honor,  Fred,"  re 
plied  Tetlow.  "  Simply  because  time  works  wonders 
in  all  sorts  of  ways,  including  infatuationso  Also — 
well,  the  fact  is,  it  didn't  seem  to  me  that  young  lady 
improved  on  acquaintance.  Maybe  I  got  tired,  or 

288 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


piqued — I  don't  know.  If  she  hadn't  been  a  silly  little 
fool,  would  she  have  refused  you?  I  know  it  sounds 
well — in  a  novel  or  a  play — for  a  poor  girl  to  refuse  a 
good  offer,  just  from  sentiment.  But,  all  the  same, 
only  a  fool  girl  does  it — in  life — eh?  But  go  to  see 
her.  You'll  understand  what  I  mean,  I  think.  I  want 
you  to  brace  up.  That  may  help." 

"What's  she  doing?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I'll  send  you  her  address.  I  can 
get  it.  About  Galloway —  If  that  break  comes,  I  pro 
pose  that  we  get  his  business — you  and  I.  I  want  you 
for  a  partner.  I  always  did.  I  think  I  know  how  to 
get  work  out  of  you.  I  understand  you  better,  than 
anyone  else.  That's  why  I'm  here." 

"  It's  useless,"  said  Norman. 

"  I'm  willing  to  take  the  risk.  Now,  here's  what  I 
propose.  I'll  stake  you  to  the  extent  of  a  thousand 
dollars  a  month  for  the  next  six  months,  you  to  keep 
on  as  you  are  and  not  to  tie  yourself  up  to  any  other 
lawyer,  or  to  any  client  likely  to  hamper  us  if  we  get 
,  the  Galloway  business." 

"  I've  been  borrowing  right  and  left " 

"I  know  about  that,"  interrupted  Tetlow.  "I'm 
not  interested.  If  you'll  agree  to  my  proposal,  I'll 
take  my  chances." 

"  You  are  throwing  away  six  thousand  dollars." 

"  I  owe  you  a  position  where  I  make  five  times  that 
much." 

289 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


Norman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Very  well.  Can 
I  have  five  hundred  at  once  ?  " 

"  I'll  send  you  a  check  to-day.  I'll  send  two  checks 
a  month — the  first  and  the  fifteenth." 

"  I  am  drinking  a  great  deal." 

"  You  always  did." 

"  Not  until  recently.  I  never  knew  what  drinking 
meant  until  these  last  few  months." 

"  Well,  do  as  you  like  with  the  money.  Drink  it 
all,  if  you  please.  I'm  making  no  conditions  beyond 
the  two  I  stated." 

"  You  will  send  me  that  address  ?  " 

"  In  the  letter  with  the  check." 

"  Will  she  see  me,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  an  idea,"  replied  Tetlow. 

"  What's  the  mystery?  "  asked  Norman.  "  Why  do 
you  speak  of  her  so  indifferently  ?  " 

"  It's  the  way  I  feel."  Then,  in  answer  to  the  un 
spoken  suspicion  once  more  appearing  in  Norman's 
eyes,  he  added :  "  She's  a  very  nice,  sweet  girl,  Norman 
— so  far  as  I  know  or  believe.  Beyond  that —  Go  to 
see  her." 

It  had  been  many  a  week  since  Norman  had  heard  a 
friendly  voice.  The  very  sound  of  the  human  voice 
had  become  hateful  to  him,  because  he  was  constantly 
detecting  the  note  of  nervousness,  the  scarcely  concealed 
fear  of  being  entangled  in  his  misfortunes.  As  Tetlow 
rose  to  go,  Norman  tried  to  detain  him.  The  sound  of 

290 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


an  unconstrained  voice,  the  sight  of  a  believing  face 
that  did  not  express  one  or  more  of  the  shadings  of 
contempt  between  pity  and  aversion — the  sight  and 
sound  of  this  friend  Tetlow  was  acting  upon  him  like 
one  of  those  secret,  unexpected,  powerful  tonics  which 
nature  at  times  suddenly  injects  into  a  dying  man  to 
confound  the  doctors  and  cheat  death. 

"  Tetlow,"  said  he,  "  I'm  down — probably  down  for 
good.  But  if  I  ever  get  up  again,  I'll  not  make  one 
mistake — the  one  that  cost  me  this  fall.  Do  you  know 
what  that  mistake  was?  " 

*'•  I  suppose  you  mean  Miss  Hallowell?  " 
"  No,"  said  Norman,  to  his  surprise.  "  I  mean  my 
lack  of  money,  of  capital,  of  a  large  and  secure  income. 
I  used  to  imagine  that  brains  were  the  best,  the  only 
sure  asset.  I  was  guilty  of  the  stupidity  of  overvalu 
ing  my  own  possessions." 

"  Brains  are  a  mighty  good  asset,  Fred." 
"  Yes — and  necessary.  But  a  man  of  action  must 
have  under  his  brains  another  asset — must  have  it, 
Billy.  The  one  secure  asset  is  a  big  capital.  Money 
rules  this  world.  Some  men  have  been  lucky  enough  to 
rise  and  stay  risen,  without  money.  But  not  a  man 
of  all  the  men  who  have  been  knocked  out  could  have 
been  dislodged  if  he  had  been  armed  and  armored  with 
money.  My  prodigality  was  my  fatal  mistake.  I 
shan't  make  it  again — if  I  get  the  chance.  You  don't 
know,  Tetlow,  how  hard  it  is  to  get  meney  when  you  are 

291 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


tumbling  and  must  have  it.  I  never  dreamed  what  a 
factor  it  is  in  calamities  of  every  sort.  It's  the  factor." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way,  Norman," 
said  Tetlow  earnestly.  "  I've  always  most  admired  in 
you  the  fact  that  you  weren't  mercenary." 

"  And  I  never  shall  be,"  said  Norman,  with  the 
patient  smile  of  a  swift,  keen  mind  at  one  that  is  slow 
and  hard  to  make  understand.  "  It  isn't  my  nature. 
But,  if  I'm  resurrected,  I'll  seem  to  be  mercenary  until 
I  get  a  full  suit  of  the  only  armor  that's  invulnerable  in 
this  world.  Why,  I  built  my  fort  like  a  fool.  It  was 
impregnable  except  for  one  thing — one  obvious  thing. 
It  hadn't  a  supply  of  water.  If  I  build  again  it'll  be 
round  a  spring — an  income  big  enough  for  my  needs 
and  beyond  anybody's  power  to  cut  off." 

Tetlow  showed  that  he  was  much  cheered  by  Nor 
man's  revived  interest  in  h'fe.  But  he  went  away  un 
easy  ;  for  the  last  thing  Norman  said  to  him  was : 

"  Don't  forget  that  address !  " 


XV 


BUT  it  chanced  that  Norman  met  her  in  the  street 
about  an  hour  after  Tetlow's  call. 

He  was  on  the  way  to  lunch  at  the  Lawyer's  Club 
— one  of  those  apparent  luxuries  that  are  the  dire  and 
pitiful  necessities  of  men  in  New  York  fighting  to  main 
tain  the  semblance  and  the  reputation  of  prosperity. 
It  must  not  be  imagined  by  those  who  are  here  let  into 
Norman's  inmost  secrets  that  his  appearance  betrayed 
the  depth  to  which  he  had  fallen.  At  least  to  the  casual 
eye  he  seemed  the  same  rich  and  powerful  personage. 
An  expert  might  have  got  at  a  good  part  of  the  truth 
from  his  somber  eyes  and  haggard  face,  from  the  subtle 
transformation  of  the  former  look  of  serene  pride  into 
the  bravado  of  pretense.  And  as,  in  a  general  way, 
the  facts  of  his  fall  were  known  far  and  wide,  all  his 
acquaintances  understood  that  his  seeming  of  undimin- 
ished  success  was  simply  the  familiar  "  bluff."  Its  ad 
vantage  to  him  with  them  lay  in  its  raising  a  doubt  as 
to  just  what  degree  of  disaster  it  hid — no  small  advan 
tage.  Nor  was  this  "  bluff  "  altogether  for  the  benefit 
of  the  outside  world.  It  made  his  fall  less  hideously  in 
tolerable  to  himself.  In  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he 

293 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


knew  that  when  drink  and  no  money  should  finally  force 
him  to  release  his  relaxing  hold  upon  his  fashionable 
clubs,  upon  luxurious  attire  and  habits,  he  would  sud 
denly  and  with  accelerated  speed  drop  into  the  abyss — 
We  have  all  caught  glimpses  of  that  abyss — frayed  fine 
linen  cheaply  laundered,  a  tie  of  one  time  smartness 
showing  signs  of  too  long  wear,  a  suit  from  the  best 
kind  of  tailor  with  shiny  spot  glistening  here,  patch 
peeping  there,  a  queer  unkemptness  about  the  hair  and 
skin — these  the  beginnings  of  a  road  that  leads  straight 
and  short  to  the  barrel-house,  the  park  bench,  and  the 
police  station.  Because,  when  a  man  strikes  into  that 
stretch  of  the  road  to  perdition,  he  ceases  to  be  one  of 
our  friends,  passes  from  view  entirely,  we  have  the  habit 
of  saying  that  such  things  rarely  if  ever  happen.  But 
we  'know  better.  Many's  the  man  now  high  who  has 
had  the  sort  of  drop  Norman  was  taking.  We  remem 
ber  when  he  was  making  a  bluff  such  as  Norman  was 
making  in  those  days ;  but  we  think  now  that  we  were 
mistaken  in  having  suspected  it  of  being  bluff. 

Norman,  dressed  with  more  than  ordinary  care — 
how  sensitive  a  man  becomes  about  those  things  when 
there  is  neither  rustle  nor  jingle  in  his  pockets,  and 
his  smallest  check  would  be  returned  with  the  big  black 
stamp  "  No  Funds  " —  Norman,  groomed  to  the  last 
button,  was  in  Broadway  near  Rector  Street.  Ahead 
of  him  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  girl — a  trim,  attractive 
figure,  slim  and  charmingly  long  of  line.  A  second 

294 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


glance,  and  he  recognized  her.  What  was  the  change 
that  had  prevented  his  recognizing  her  at  once?  He 
had  not  seen  that  particular  lightish-blue  dress  before 
— nor  the  coquettish  harmonizing  hat.  But  that  was 
not  the  reason.  No,  it  was  the  coquetry  in  her  toilet — 
the  effort  of  the  girl  to  draw  attention  to  her  charms 
by  such  small  devices  as  are  within  the  reach  of  ex 
tremely  modest  means.  He  did  not  like  this  change. 
It  offended  his  taste;  it  alarmed  his  jealousy. 

He  quickened  his  step,  and  when  almost  at  her  side 
spoke  her  name — "  Miss  Hallowell." 

She  stopped,  turned.  As  soon  as  she  recognized 
him  there  came  into  her  quiet,  lovely  face  a  delightful 
smile.  He  could  not  conceal  his  amazement.  She  was 
glad  to  see  him!  Instantly,  following  the  invariable 
habit  of  an  experienced  analytical  mind,  he  wondered 
for  what  unflattering  reason  this  young  woman  who 
did  not  like  him  was  no  longer  showing  it,  was  seeming 
more  than  a  little  pleased  to  see  him.  "  Why,  how  d'ye 
do,  Mr.  Norman  ?  "  said  she.  And  her  friendliness  and 
assurance  of  manner  jarred  upon  him.  There  was  not 
a  suggestion  of  forwardness;  but  he,  used  to  her  old- 
time  extreme  reserve,  felt  precisely  as  if  she  were  bold 
and  gaudy,  after  the  fashion  of  so  many  of  the  working 
girls  who  were  popular  with  the  men. 

This  unfavorable  impression  disappeared — or, 
rather,  retired  to  the  background — even  as  it  became 
definite.  And  once  more  he  was  seeing  the  charms  of 

295 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


physical  loveliness,  of  physical — and  moral,  and  men 
tal — mystery  that  had  a  weird  power  over  him.  As 
they  shook  hands,  a  quiver  shot  through  him  as  at  the 
shock  of  a  terrific  stimulant;  and  he  stood  there  long 
ing  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  feel  the  delicate  yet  per 
fect  and  vividly  vital  life  of  that  fascinating  form — 
longing  to  kiss  that  sensitive,  slightly  pouted  rosy 
mouth,  to  try  to  make  those  clear  eyes  grow  soft  and 
dreamy 

She  was  saying :  "  I've  been  wondering  what  had 
become  of  you." 

"  I  saw  Tetlow,"  he  said.  "  He  promised  to  send 
me  your  address." 

At  Tetlow's  name  she  frowned  slightly ;  then  a 
gleam  of  ridicule  flitted  into  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  that  silly, 
squeamish  old  maid !  How  sick  I  got  of  him !  " 

Norman  winced,  and  his  jealousy  stirred.  "  Why?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Always  warning  me  against  everybody.  Always 
giving  me  advice.  It  was  too  tiresome.  And  at  last  he 
began  to  criticize  me — the  way  I  dressed — the  way  I 
talked — said  I  was  getting  too  free  in  my  manner. 
The  impudence  of  him !  " 

Norman  tried  to  smile. 

"  He'd  have  liked  me  to  stay  a  silly  little  mouse 
forever." 

"  So  you've  been — blossoming  out?  "  said  Norman. 

"  In  a  quiet  way,"  replied  she,  with  a  smile  of  self- 
296 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


content,  so  lovely  as  a  smile  that  no  one  would  have 
minded  its  frank  egotism.  "  There  isn't  much  chance 
for  fun — unless  a  girl  goes  too  far.  But  at  the  same 
time  I  don't  intend  life  to  be  Sunday  when  it  isn't  work. 
I  got  very  cross  with  him — Mr.  Tetlow,  I  mean.  And 
I  took  another  position.  It  didn't  pay  quite  so  well — 
only  fifteen  a  week.  But  I  couldn't  stand  being 
watched — and  guyed  by  all  the  other  girls  and  boys 
for  it." 

"  Where  are  you  working?  " 

"  With  an  old  lawyer  named  Brans  combe.  It's  aw 
ful  slow,  as  I'm  the  only  one,  and  he's  old  and  does 
everything  in  an  old-fashioned  way.  But  the  hours  are 
easy,  and  I  don't  have  to  get  down  till  nine — which 
is  nice  when  you've  been  out  at  a  dance  the  night  be 
fore." 

Norman  kept  his  eyes  down  to  hide  from  her  the 
legion  of  devils  of  jealousy.  "  You  have  changed,"  he 
said. 

"  I'm  growing  up,'?  replied  she  with  a  charming  toss 
of  her  small  head — what  beautiful  effects  the  sunlight 
made  in  among  those  wavy  strands  and  strays! 

"  And  you're  as  lovely  as  ever — lovelier,"  he  said — 
and  his  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  the  slave  she  had  spurned. 

She  did  not  spurn  him  now — and  it  inflamed  his 
jealousy  that  she  did  not.  She  said:  "  Oh,  what's  the 
good  of  looks?  The  town's  full  of  pretty  girls.  And 
so  many  of  them  have  money — which  I  haven't.  To 

297 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


make  a  hit  in  New  York  a  girl's  got  to  have  both  looks 
and  dress.  But  I  must  be  going.  I've  an  engagement 
to  lunch — "  She  gave  a  proud  little  smile — "  at  the 
Astor  House.  It's  nice  upstairs  there." 

"With  Bob  Culver?" 

She  laughed.  "  I  haven't  seen  him  since  I  left  his 
office.  You  know,  Mr.  Tetlow  took  me  with  him — back 
to  your  old  firm.  I  didn't  like  Mr.  Culver.  I  don't 
care  for  those  black  men.  They  are  bad-tempered  and 
two-faced.  Anyhow,  I'd  not  have  anything  to  do  with 
a  man  who  wanted  to  slip  round  with  me  as  if  he  were 
ashamed  of  me." 

She  was  looking  at  Norman  pleasantly  enough.  He 
wasn't  sure  that  the  hit  was  for  him  as  well  as  for  Cul 
ver,  but  he  flushed  deeply.  "  Will  you  lunch  with  me 
at  the  Astor  House  at  one  to-morrow?" 

"  I've  got  an  engagement,"  said  she.  "  And  I  must 
be  going.  I'm  awfully  late."  He  had  an  instinct  that 
her  engagement  on  both  days  was  with  the  same  man. 
"  I'm  glad  to  have  seen  you " 

"  Won't  you  let  me  call  on  you?  "  he  said  implor 
ingly,  but  with  the  suggestion  that  he  had  no  hope  of 
being  permitted  to  come. 

"  Certainly,"  responded  she  with  friendly  prompt 
ness.  She  opened  the  shopping  bag  swinging  on  her 
arm.  "  Here  is  one  of  my  cards." 

"When?    This  evening?  " 

Her  laugh  showed  the  beautiful  deep  pink  and  daz- 
298 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


zling  white  behind  her  lips.  "  No — I'm  going  to  a 
party." 

"  Let  me  take  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  wouldn't  like  it.  Only 
young  people." 

"  But  I'm  not  so  old." 

She  looked  at  him  critically.  "  No — you're  not. 
It  always  puzzled  me.  You  aren't  old — you  look  like 
a  boy  lots  of  the  time.  But  you  always  seem  old  to 
me." 

"  I'll  try  to  do  better.     To-night?  " 

"  Not  to-night,"  laughed  she.  "  Let's  see— to-mor 
row's  Sunday.  Come  to-morrow — about  half  past 
two." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  so  gratefully  that  he  cursed 
himself  for  his  folly  as  he  heard  his  voice — the  idiotic 
folly  of  so  plainly  betraying  his  feelings.  No  wonder 
she  despised  him!  Beginning  again — and  beginning 
wrong. 

"  Good-by."  Her  eyes,  her  smile  flashed  and  he 
was  alone,  watching  her  slender  grace  glide  through 
the  throngs  of  lower  Broadway. 

At  his  office  again  at  three,  he  found  a  note  from 
Tetlow  inclosing  another  of  Dorothy's  cards  and  also 
the  promised  check.  Into  his  face  came  the  look  that 
always  comes  into  the  faces  of  the  prisoners  of  despair 
when  the  bolts  slide  back  and  the  heavy  door  swings 
and  hope  stands  on  the  threshold  instead  of  the  famil- 

299 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


iar  grim  figure  of  the  jailer.  "  This  looks  like  the 
turn  of  the  road,"  he  muttered.  Yes,  a  turn  it  certain 
ly  was — but  was  it  the  turn?  "  I'll  know  more  as  to 
that,"  said  he  with  a  glance  at  the  clock,  "  about  this 
time  to-morrow." 

It  was  a  boarding  house  on  the  west  side.  And 
when  the  slovenly,  smelly  maid  said,  "  Go  right  up  to 
her  room,"  he  knew  it  was — probably  respectable,  but 
not  rigidly  respectable.  However,  working  girls  must 
receive,  and  they  cannot  afford  parlors  and  chaperons. 
Still —  It  was  no  place  for  a  lovely  young  girl,  full 
of  charm  and  of  love  of  life — and  not  brought  up  in 
the  class  where  the  women  are  trained  from  babyhood 
to  protect  themselves. 

He  ascended  two  flights,  knocked  at  the  door  to  the 
rear.  "  Come ! "  called  a  voice,  and  he  entered.  It 
was  a  small  neat  room,  arranged  comfortably  and  with 
some  taste.  He  recognized  at  first  glance  many  little 
things  from  her  room  in  the  Jersey  City  house — things 
he  had  provided  for  her.  On  the  chimney  piece  was  a 
large  photograph  of  her  father — Norman's  eyes  has 
tily  shifted  from  that.  The  bed  was  folded  away  into 
a  couch — for  space  and  for  respectability.  At  first 
he  did  not  see  her.  But  when  he  advanced  a  step  far 
ther,  she  was  disclosed  in  the  doorway  of  a  deep  closet 
that  contained  a  stationary  washstand. 

He  had  never  seen  her  when  she  was  not  fully 
300 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


dressed.  He  was  now  seeing  her  in  a  kind  of  wrapper 
— of  pale  blue,  clean  but  not  fresh.  It  was  open  at  the 
throat;  its  sleeves  fell  away  from  her  arms.  And,  to 
cap  the  climax  of  his  agitation,  her  hair,  her  wonderful 
hair,  was  flowing  loosely  about  her  face  and  shoulders. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  "  she  cried  laugh 
ingly.  Her  eyes  sparkled  and  danced ;  the  waves  of  her 
hair,  each  hair  standing  out  as  if  it  were  alive,  sparkled 
and  danced.  It  was  a  smile  never  to  be  forgotten. 
"Why  are  you  so  embarrassed?" 

He  was  embarrassed.  He  was  thrilled.  He  was 
enraged — enraged  because,  if  she  would  thus  receive 
him  whom  she  did  not  like,  she  would  certainly  thus  re 
ceive  any  man. 

"  I  don't  mind  you,"  she  went  on,  mockingly.  "  I'd 
have  to  be  careful  if  it  was  one  of  the  boys." 

"  Do  you  receive  the — boys — here  ?  "  demanded  he 
glumly,  his  voice  arrogant  with  the  possessive  rights  a 
man  feels  when  he  cares  for  a  woman,  whether  she  cares 
for  him  or  not. 

"Why  not?"  scoffed  she.  "Where  else  would  I 
see  them?  I  don't  make  street  corner  dates,  thank  you. 
You're  as  bad  as  fat,  foolish  Mr.  Tetlow." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he  humbly. 

She  straightway  relented,  saying :  "  Of  course  I'd 
not  let  one  of  the  boys  come  up  when  I  was  dressed  like 
this.  But  I  didn't  mind  you"  He  winced  at  this  ami 
able,  unconscious  reminder  of  her  always  exasperating 

301 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


and  tantalizing  and  humiliating  indifference  to  him — 
"  And  as  I'm  going  to  a  grand  dance  to-night  I  simply 
had  to  wash  my  hair.  Does  that  satisfy  you,  Mr. 
Primmey?  " 

He  hid  the  torment  of  his  reopened  wound  and  seat 
ed  himself  at  the  center  table.  She  returned  to  a  chair 
in  the  window  where  the  full  force  of  the  afternoon  sun 
would  concentrate  upon  her  hair.  And  he  gazed  spell 
bound.  He  had  always  known  that  her  hair  was  fine. 
He  had  never  dreamed  it  was  like  this.  It  was  thick, 
it  was  fine  and  soft.  In  color,  as  the  sunbeams  streamed 
upon  it,  it  was  all  the  shades  of  gold  and  all  the  other 
beautiful  shades  between  brown  and  red.  It  fell  about 
her  face,  about  her  neck,  about  her  shoulders  in  a  gor 
geous  veil.  And  her  pure  white  skin —  It  was  an  even 
more  wonderful  white  below  the  line  of  her  collar — 
where  he  had  never  seen  it  before.  Such  exquisitely 
modeled  ears — such  a  delicate  nose — and  the  curve  of 
her  cheeks — and  the  glory  of  her  eyes !  He  clinched 
his  teeth  and  his  hands,  sat  dumb  with  his  gaze  down. 

"How  do  you  like  my  room?"  she  chattered  on. 
"  It's  not  so  bad — really  quite  comfortable — though 
I'm  afraid  I'll  be  cold  when  the  weather  changes.  But 
it's  the  best  I  can  do.  As  it  is,  I  don't  see  how  I'm 
going  to  make  ends  meet.  I  pay  twelve  of  my  fifteen 
for  this  room  and  two  meals.  The  rest  goes  for  lunch 
and  car  fare.  As  soon  as  I  have  to  get  clothes — "  She 
broke  off,  laughing. 

302 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Well,"  he  said,  "  what  then?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  she  carelessly. 
"  Perhaps  old  Mr.  Branscombe'll  give  me  a  raise.  Still, 
eighteen  or  twenty  is  the  most  I  could  hope  for — and 
that  wouldn't  mean  enough  for  clothes." 

She  shook  her  head  vigorously  and  her  hair  stood 
out  yet  more  vividly  and  the  sunbeams  seemed  to  go 
mad  with  joy  as  they  danced  over  and  under  and 
through  it.  He  had  ventured  to  glance  up;  again  he 
hastily  looked  down. 

"  You  spoiled  me,"  she  went  on.  "  Those  few 
months  over  there  in  Jersey  City.  It  made  such  a 
change  in  me,  though  I  didn't  realize  it  at  the  time. 
You  see,  I  hadn't  known  since  I  was  a  tiny  little  girl 
what  it  was  to  live  really  decently,  and  so  I  was  able 
to  get  along  quite  contentedly.  I  didn't  know  any  bet 
ter."  She  made  a  wry  face.  "  How  I  loathe  the 
canned  and  cold  storage  stuff  I  have  to  eat  nowadays. 
And  how  I  do  miss  the  beautiful  room  I  had  in  that  big 
house  over  there !  and  how  I  miss  Molly  and  Pat — and 
the  garden — and  doing  as  I  pleased — and  the  clothes  I 
had!  I  thought  I  was  being  careful  and  not  spoiling 
myself.  You  may  not  believe  it,  but  I  was  really  con 
scientious  about  spending  money."  She  laughed  in  a 
queer,  absent  way.  "  I  had  such  a  funny  idea  of  what 
I  had  a  right  to  do  and  what  I  hadn't.  And  I  didn't 
spend  so  very  much  on  out-and-out  luxury.  But — 
enough  to  spoil  me  for  this  life." 

303 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


As  Norman  listened,  as  he  noted — in  her  appear 
ance,  manner,  way  of  talking — the  many  meaning  signs 
of  the  girl  hesitating  at  the  fork  of  the  roads — he  felt 
within  him  the  twinges  of  fear,  of  jealousy — and 
through  fear  and  jealousy,  the  twinges  of  conscience. 
She  was  telling  the  truth.  He  had  undermined  her  abil 
ity  to  live  in  purity  the  life  to  which  her  earning  power 
assigned  her.  .  .  .  Why  had  she  been  so  friendly  to 
him?  Why  had  she  received  him  in  this  informal,  al 
most  if  not  quite  inviting  fashion  ? 

"So  you  think  I've  changed?"  she  was  saying. 
"  Well — I  have.  Gracious,  what  a  little  fool  I  was !  " 

His  eyes  lifted  with  an  agonized  question  in  them. 

She  flushed,  glanced  away,  glanced  at  him  again 
with  the  old,  sweet  expression  of  childlike  innocence 
which  had  so  often  made  him  wonder  whether  it  was 
merely  a  mannerism,  or  was  a  trick,  or  was  indeed  a 
beam  from  a  pure  soul.  "  I'm  foolish  still — in  certain 
ways,"  she  said  significantly. 

"  And  you  always  intend  to  be?  "  suggested  he  with 
a  forced  smile. 

"  Oh — yes,"  replied  she — positively  enough,  yet  it 
somehow  had  not  the  full  force  of  her  simple  short 
statements  in  the  former  days.  r 

He  believed  her.  Perhaps  because  he  wished  to 
believe,  must  believe,  would  have  been  driven  quite  mad 
by  disbelief.  Still,  he  believed.  As  yet  she  was  good. 
But  it  would  not  last  much  longer.  With  him — or 

304 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


with  some  other.  If  with  him,  then  certainly  afterward 
with  another — with  others.  No  matter  how  jealously 
he  might  guard  her,  she  would  go  that  road,  if  once  she 
entered  it.  If  he  would  have  her  for  his  very  own  he 
must  strengthen  her,  not  weaken  her,  must  keep  her 
"  foolish  still — in  certain  ways." 

He  said :  "  There's  nothing  in  the  other  sort  of  life." 

"  That's  what  they  say,"  replied  she,  with  ominous 
irritation.  "  Still — some  girls — lots  of  girls  seem  to 
get  on  mighty  well  without  being  so  terribly  particular." 

"  You  ought  to  see  them  after  a  few  years." 

"  I'm  only  twenty-one,"  laughed  she.  "  I've  got 
lots  of  time  before  I'm  old.  .  .  .  You  haven't — mar 
ried?  " 

"  No,"  said  he. 

"I  thought  I'd  have  heard,  if  you  had."  She 
laughed  queerly — again  shook  out  her  hair,  and  it 
shimmered  round  her  face  and  over  her  head  and  out 
from  her  shoulders  like  flames.  "  You've  got  a  kind  of 
a — Mr.  Tetlow  way  of  talking.  It  doesn't  remind  me 
of  you  as  you  were  in  Jersey  City." 

She  said  nothing,  she  suggested  nothing  that  had 
the  least  impropriety  in  it,  or  faintest  hint  of  impro 
priety.  It  was  nothing  positive,  nothing  aggressive, 
but  a  certain  vague  negative  something  that  gave  him 
the  impression  of  innocence  still  innocent  but  looking 
or  trying  to  look  tolerantly  where  it  should  not.  And 
he  felt  dizzy  and  sick,  stricken  with  shame  and  remorse 

305 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


a — and  jealous  fear.  Yes — she  was  sliding  slowly, 
gently,  unconsciously  down  to  the  depth  in  which  he 
had  been  lying,  sick  and  shuddering — no,  to  deeper 
depths — to  the  depths  where  there  is  no  light,  no  trace 
of  a  return  path.  And  he  had  started  her  down.  He 
had  done  it  when  he,  in  his  pride  and  selfishness,  had 
ignored  what  the  success  of  his  project  would  mean 
for  her.  But  he  knew  now ;  in  bitterness  and  shame  and 
degradation  he  had  learned.  "  I  was  infamous !  "  he 
said  to  himself. 

She  began  to  talk  in  a  low,  embarrassed  voice: 
"  Sometimes  I  think  of  getting  married.  There's  a 
young  man — a  young  lawyer — he  makes  twenty-five 
a  week,  but  it'll  be  years  and  years  before  he  has  a 
good  living.  A  man  doesn't  get  on  fast  in  New  York 
unless  he  has  pull." 

Norman,  roused  from  his  remorse,  blazed  inside. 
"  You  are  in  love  with  him  ?  " 

She  laughed,  and  he  could  not  tell  whether  it  was 
to  tease  him  or  to  evade. 

"  You'd  not  care  about  him  long,"  said  Norman, 
"  unless  there  were  more  money  coming  in  than  he'd 
be  likely  to  get  soon.  Love  without  money  doesn't  go 
— at  least,  not  in  New  York." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  that?"  said  she 
with  the  irritation  of  one  faced  by  a  hateful  fact. 
"  Still— I  don't  see  what  to  do." 

Norman,  biting  his  lip  and  fuming  and  observing 
306 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


her  with  jealous  eyes,  said  in  the  best  voice  he  could 
command,  "  How  long  have  you  been  in  love  with  him?  " 

"  Did  I  say  I  was  in  love?  "  mocked  she. 

"You  didn't  say  you  weren't.     Who  is  he?" 

"  If  you'll  stay  on  about  half  an  hour  or  so,  you'll 
see  him.  No — you  can't.  I've  got  to  get  dressed  before 
I  let  him  up.  He  has  very  strict  ideas — where  I'm  con 
cerned." 

"  Then  why  did  you  let  me  come  up  ?  "  Norman  said, 
with  a  penetrating  glance. 

She  lowered  her  gaze  and  a  faint  flush  stole  into  her 
cheeks.  Was  it  confession  of  the  purpose  he  suspected? 
Or.  was  it  merely  embarrassment? 

"  I  heard  of  a  case  once,"  continued  Norman,  his 
gaze  significantly  direct,  "  the  case  of  a  girl  who  was 
in  love  with  a  poor  young  fellow.  She  wanted  money 
— luxury.  Also,  she  wanted  the  poor  young  fellow." 

The  color  flamed  into  the  girl's  face,  then  left  it  pale. 
Her  white  fingers  fluttered  with  nervous  grace  into  her 
masses  of  hair  and  back  to  her  lap  again,  to  rest  there 
in  timid  quiet. 

"  She  knew  another  man,"  pursued  Norman,  "  one 
who  was  able  to  give  her  what  she  wanted  in  the  way  of 
comfort.  So,  she  decided  to  make  an  arrangement  with 
the  man,  and  keep  it  hidden  from  her  lover — and  in  that 
way  get  along  pleasantly  until  her  lover  was  in  better 
circumstances." 

Her  gaze  was  upon  her  hands,  listless  in  her  lap.  He 
307 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


felt  that  he  had  spoken  her  unspoken,  probably  un 
formed  thoughts.  Yes,  unformed.  Men  and  women, 
especially  women,  habitually  pursued  these  unacknowl 
edged  and  even  unformed  purposes,  in  their  conflicts  of 
the  desire  to  get  what  they  wanted  and  their  desire  to 
appear  well  to  themselves. 

"  What  would  you  think  of  an  arrangement  like 
that?  "  asked  he,  determined  to  draw  her  secret  heart 
into  the  open  where  he  could  see,  where  she  could  see. 

She  lifted  frank,  guileless  eyes  to  his.  "  I  suppose 
the  girl  was  trying  to  do  the  best  she  could." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  girl  who'd  do  that?  " 

"  I  don't  judge  anybody — any  more.  I've  found  out 
that  this  world  isn't  at  all  as  I  thought — as  I  was 
taught." 

"Would  you  do  it?" 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  No,"  she  replied  uncertainly. 
Then  she  restored  his  wavering  belief  in  her  essential  hon 
esty  and  truthfulness  by  adding :  "  That  is  to  say,  I 
don't  think  I  would." 

She  busied  herself  with  her  hair,  feeling  it  to  see 
whether  it  was  not  yet  dry,  spreading  it  out.  He  looked 
at  her  unseeingly.  At  last  she  said :  "  You  must  go. 
I've  got  to  get  dressed." 

"  Yes — I  must  be  going,"  said  he  absently,  rising 
and  reaching  for  his  hat  on  the  center  table. 

She  stood  up,  put  out  her  hand.     "  I'm  glad  you 


308 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  still  in  the  same  abstraction. 
He  shook  hands  with  her,  moved  hesitatingly  toward  the 
door.  With  his  hand  on  the  knob  he  turned  and  glanced 
keenly  at  her.  He  surprised  in  her  face  a  look  of  mys 
tery — of  seriousness,  of  sadness — was  there  anxiety  in  it, 
also  ?  And  then  he  saw  a  certain  elusive  reminder  of  her 
father — and  it  brought  to  him  with  curious  force  the 
memory  of  how  she  had  been  brought  up,  of  what  must 
be  hers  by  inheritance  and  by  training — she,  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  great  and  simple  and  noble  man — 

"  You'll  come  again  ?  "  she  said,  and  there  was  the 
note  in  her  voice  that  made  his  nerves  grow  tense  and 
vibrate. 

But  he  seemed  not  to  have  heard  her  question.  Still 
at  the  unopened  door,  he  folded  his  arms  upon  his  chest 
and  said,  speaking  rapidly  yet  with  the  deliberation  of 
one  who  has  thought  out  his  words  in  advance : 

"  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  girl  you  are.  I  never 
have  known.  I've  never  wanted  to  know.  If  you  told 
me  you  were — what  is  called  good,  I'd  doubt  it.  If  you 
told  me  you  weren't,  I'd  want  to  kill  you  and  myself. 
They  say  there's  a  fatal  woman  for  every  man  and  a 
fatal  man  for  every  woman.  I  always  laughed  at  the 
idea — until  you.  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  myself." 

She  suddenly  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips.  It  irritated 
him,  to  discover  that,  as  he  talked,  speaking  the  things 
that  came  from  the  very  depths  of  his  soul,  she  had  been 
giving  him  only  part  of  her  attention,  had  been  listening 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


for  a  step  on  the  stairs.  He  was  hearing  the  ascending 
step  now.  He  frowned.  "  Can't  you  send  him  away  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  must,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone.  "  It  wouldn't  do 
for  him  to  know  you  were  here.  He  has  strict  ideas — 
and  is  terribly  jealous." 

A  few  seconds  of  silence,  then  a  knock  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door. 

"  Who's  there?  "  she  called. 

"  I'm  a  little  early,"  came  in  an  agreeable,  young 
man's  voice.  "  Aren't  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Not  nearly,"  replied  she,  in  a  laughing,  innocent 
voice.  "  You'll  have  to  go  away  for  half  an  hour." 

"  I'll  wait  out  here  on  the  steps." 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling.  A  delicate  color  had 
mounted  to  her  skin.  Norman,  watching  her  jealously, 
clinched  his  strong  jaws.  She  said:  "No — you  must 
go  clear  away.  I  don't  want  to  feel  that  I'm  being  hur 
ried.  Don't  come  back  until  a  quarter  past  four." 

"  All  right.  I'm  crazy  to  see  you."  This  in  the 
voice  of  a  lover.  She  smiled  radiantly  at  Norman,  as  if 
she  thought  he  would  share  in  her  happiness  at  these 
evidences  of  her  being  well  loved.  The  unseen  young 
man  said :  "  Exactly  a  quarter  past.  What  time  does 
your  clock  say  it  is  now  ?  " 

"  A  quarter  to,"  replied  she. 

"  That's  what  my  watch  says.  So  there'll  be  no  mis 
take.  For  half  an  hour — good-by  !  " 

310 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Half  an  hour!  "  she  called. 

She  and  Norman  stood  in  silence  until  the  footsteps 
died  away.  Then  she  said  crossly  to  Norman :  "  You 
ought  to  have  gone  before.  I  don't  like  to  do  these 
things." 

"  You  do  them  well,"  said  he,  with  a  savage  gleam. 

She  was  prompt  and  sure  with  his  punishment.  She 
said,  simply  and  sweetly :  "  I'd  do  anything  to  keep  his 
good  opinion  of  me." 

Norman  felt  and  looked  cowed.  "  You  don't  know 
how  it  makes  me  suffer  to  see  you  fond  of  another  man," 
he  cried. 

She  seemed  not  in  the  least  interested,  went  to  the 
mirror  of  the  bureau  and  began  to  inspect  her  hair  with 
a  view  to  doing  it  up.  "  You  can  go  in  five  minutes," 
said  she.  "  By  that  time  he'll  be  well  out  of  the  way. 
Anyhow,  if  he  saw  you  leaving  the  house  he'd  not  know- 
but  what  you  had  been  to  see  some  one  else.  He  knows 
you  by  reputation  but  not  by  sight." 

Norman  went  to  her,  took  her  by  the  shoulders  gen 
tly  but  strongly.  "  Look  at  me,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression,  or  perhaps  ab 
sence  of  expression,  that  was  simple  listening. 

"  If  you  meant  awhile  ago  some  such  thing  as  I 
hinted — I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  must 
marry  me — or  it's  nothing  at  all." 

Her  gaze  did  not  wander,  but  before  his  wondering 
eyes  she  seemed  to  fade,  fade  toward  colorlessness  insig- 

311 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


nificance.  The  light  died  from  her  eyes,  the  flush  of 
health  from  her  white  skin,  the  freshness  from  her  lips, 
the  sparkle  and  vitality  from  her  hair.  A  slow,  gradual 
transformation,  which  he  watched  with  a  frightened 
tightening  at  the  heart. 

She  said  slowly :  "  You — want — me — to — marry — 
you?  " 

"  I've  always  wanted  it,  though  I  didn't  realize,"  re 
plied  he.  "  How  else  could  I  be  sure  of  you?  Besides — " 
He  flushed,  added  hurriedly,  almost  in  an  undertone — 
"  I  owe  it  to  you." 

She  seated  herself  deliberately. 

After  he  had  waited  in  vain  for  her  to  speak,  he 
went  on :  "  If  you  married  me,  I  know  you'd  play  square. 
I  could  trust  you  absolutely.  I  don't  know — can't  find 
out  much  about  you — but  at  least  I  know  that." 

"  But  I  don't  love  you,"  said  she. 

"  You  needn't  remind  me  of  it,"  rejoined  he  curtly. 

"  I  don't  think  so — so  poorly  of  you  as  I  used  to," 
she  went  on.  "  I  understand  a  lot  of  things  better 
than  I  did.  But  I  don't  love  you,  and  I  feel  that  I 
never  could." 

"I'll  risk  that,"  said  Norman.  Through  his 
clinched  teeth,  "  I've  got  to  risk  it." 

"  I'd  be  marrying  you  because  I  don't  feel  able  to 
— to  make  my  own  way." 

"  That's  the  reason  most  girls  have  for  marrying," 
said  he.  "  Love  comes  afterward — if  it  comes.  And 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


it's  the  more  likely  to  come  for  the  girl  not  having 
faked  the  man  and  herself  beforehand." 

She  glanced  at  the  clock.  He  frowned.  She  started 
up.  "  You  must  go,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  your  answer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  decide  so  quickly.     I  must  think." 

"  You  mean  you  must  see  your  young  man  again 
— see  whether  there  isn't  some  way  of  working  it  out 
with  him." 

"  That,  too,"  replied  she  simply.  "  But — it's  nearly 
four  o'clock " 

"  I'll  come  back  at  seven  for  my  answer." 

"  No,  I'll  write  you  to-night." 

"  I  must  know  at  once.  This  suspense  has  got  to 
end.  It  unfits  me  for  everything." 

"  I'll — I'll  decide — to-night,"  she  said,  with  a  queer 
catch  in  her  voice.  "  You'll  get  the  letter  in  the  morn 
ing  mail." 

"  Very  well."     And  he  gave  her  his  club  address. 

She  opened  the  door  in  her  impatience  to  be  rid  of 
him.  He  went  with  a  hasty  "  Good-by "  which  she 
echoed  as  she  closed  the  door. 

When  he  left  the  house  he  saw  standing  on  the  curb 
before  it  a  tall,  good-looking  young  man — with  a  frank 
amiable  face.  He  hesitated,  glowering  at  the  young 
man's  profile.  Then  he  went  his  way,  suffocating  with 
jealous  anger,  depressed,  despondent,  fit  for  nothing 
but  to  drink  and  to  brood  in  fatuous  futility. 

313 


XVI 


UNTIL  very  recently  indeed  psychology  was  not  an 
ology  at  all  but  an  indefinite  something  or  other  "  up 
in  the  air,"  the  sport  of  the  winds  and  fogs  of  tran 
scendental  tommy  rot.  Now,  however,  science  has  drawn 
it  down,  has  fitted  it  in  its  proper  place  as  a  branch  of 
physiology.  And  we  are  beginning  to  have  a  clearer 
understanding  of  the  thoughts  and  the  thought-produc 
ing  actions  of  ourselves  and  our  fellow  beings.  Soon 
it  will  be  no  longer  possible  for  the  historian  and  the 
novelist,  the  dramatist,  the  poet,  the  painter  or  sculptor 
to  present  in  all  seriousness  as  instances  of  sane  human 
conduct,  the  aberrations  resulting  from  various  forms 
of  disease  ranging  from  indigestion  in  its  mild,  temper- 
breeding  forms  to  acute  homicidal  or  suicidal  mania. 
In  that  day  of  greater  enlightenment  a  large  body  of 
now  much  esteemed  art  will  become  ridiculous.  Prac 
tically  all  the  literature  of  strenuous  passion  will  go  by 
the  board  or  will  be  relegated  to  the  medical  library 
where  it  belongs;  and  it,  and  the  annals  of  violence 
found  in  the  daily  newspapers  of  our  remote  time  will 
be  cited  as  documentary  proof  of  the  low  economic  and 
hygienic  conditions  prevailing  in  that  almost  barbarous 

314 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


period.  For  certain  it  is  that  the  human  animal  when 
healthy  and  well  fed  is  invariably  peaceable  and  kindly 
and  tolerant — up  to  the  limits  of  selfishness,  and  even 
encroaching  upon  those  limits. 

Of  writing  rubbish  about  love  and  passion  there  is 
no  end — and  will  be  no  end  until  the  venerable  tradi 
tional  nonsense  about  those  interesting  emotions  shares 
the  fate  that  should  overtake  all  the  cobwebs  of  ignor 
ance  thickly  clogging  the  windows  and  walls  of  the 
human  mind.  Of  all  the  fiddle-faddle  concerning  passion 
probably  none  is  more  shudderingly  admired  than  the 
notion  that  one  possessed  of  an  overwhelming  desire  for 
another  longs  to  destroy  that  other.  It  is  true  there 
is  a  form  of  murderous  mania  that  involves  practically 
all  the  emotions,  including  of  course  the  passions — which 
are  as  readily  subject  to  derangement  as  any  other  part 
of  the  human  organism.  But  passion  in  itself — even 
when  it  is  so  powerful  that  it  dominates  the  whole  life, 
as  in  the  case  of  Frederick  Norman — passion  in  itself 
is  not  a  form  of  mental  derangement  in  the  medical 
sense.  And  it  does  not  produce  acute  selfishness,  para 
noiac  egotism,  but  a  generous  and  beautiful  kind  of 
unselfishness.  Not  from  the  first  moment  of  Fred  Nor 
man's  possession  did  he  wish  to  injure  or  in  any  way 
to  make  unhappy  the  girl  he  loved.  He  longed  to  be 
happy  with  her,  to  have  her  happy  with  and  through 
him.  He  represented  his  plotting  to  himself  as  a  plan 
to  make  her  happier  than  she  ever  had  been;  as  for 
11  315 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ultimate  consequences,  he  refused  to  consider  them. 
The  most  hardened  rake,  when  passion  possesses  him, 
wishes  all  happiness  to  the  woman  of  his  pursuit.  In 
difference,  coldness — the  natural  hard-heartedness  of 
the  normal  man — returns  only  when  the  inspiration  and 
elevation  of  passion  disappear  in  satiety.  The  man  or 
the  woman  who  continues  to  inspire  passion  continues 
to  inspire  tenderness  and  considerateness. 

So  when  Norman  left  Dorothy  that  Sunday  after 
noon,  he,  being  a  normal  if  sore  beset  human  being,  was 
soon  in  the  throes  of  an  agonized  remorse.  There  may 
have  been  some  hypocrisy  in  it,  some  struggling  to  cover 
up  the  baser  elements  in  his  infatuation  for  her.  What 
human  emotion  of  upward  tendency  has  not  at  least  a 
little  of  the  varnish  of  hypocrisy  on  certain  less  present 
able  spots  in  it?  But  in  the  main  it  was  a  creditable, 
a  manly  remorse,  and  not  altogether  the  writhings  of 
jealousy  and  jealous  fear  of  losing  her. 

He  saw  clearly  that  she  was  telling  the  truth,  and 
telling  it  too  gently,  when  she  said  he  was  responsible 
for  her  having  standards  of  living  which  she  could  not 
unaided  hope  to  attain.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  inter 
fere  in  the  destiny  of  a  fellow  being.  We  do  it  all  the 
time;  we  do  it  lightly.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  dreadful 
thing — not  one  that  ought  not  to  be  done,  but  one  that 
ought  to  be  done  only  under  imperative  compulsion, 
and  then  with  every  precaution.  He  had  interfered  in 
Dorothy  Hallowell's  destiny.  He  had  lifted  her  out  of 

316 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  dim  obscure  niche  where  she  was  ensconced  in  com 
parative  contentment.  He  had  lifted  her  up  where  she 
had  seen  and  felt  the  pleasures  of  a  life  of  luxury. 

"  But  for  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  she  would  now 
be  marrying  this  poor  young  lawyer,  or  some  chap  of 
the  same  sort,  and  would  be  looking  forward  to  a  life 
of  happiness  in  a  little  flat  or  suburban  cottage." 

If  she  should  refuse  his  offer — what  then?  Clearly 
he  ought  to  do  his  best  to  help  her  to  happiness  with 
the  other  man.  He  smiled  cynically  at  the  moral  height 
to  which  his  logic  thus  pointed  the  way.  Nevertheless, 
he  did  not  turn  away  but  surveyed  it — and  there  formed 
in  his  mind  an  impulse  to  make  an  effort  to  attempt 
that  height,  if  Fate  should  rule  against  him  with  her. 
"  If  I  were  a  really  decent  man,"  thought  he,  "  I'd 
sit  down  now  and  write  her  that  I  would  not  marry 
her  but  would  give  her  young  man  a  friendly  hand  in 
the  law  if  she  wished  to  marry  him."  But  he  knew  that 
such  utter  generosity  was  far  beyond  him.  "  Only  a 
hero  could  do  it,"  said  he;  he  added  with  what  a  senti 
mentalist  might  have  called  a  return  of  his  normal 
cynicism,  "  only  a  hero  who  really  in  the  bottom  of 
his  heart  didn't  especially  want  the  girl."  And  a 
candid  person  of  experience  might  possibly  admit  that 
there  was  more  truth  than  cynicism  in  his  look  askance 
at  the  grand  army  of  martyrs  of  renunciation,  most 
of  whom  have  simply  given  up  something  they  didn't 
really  want. 

317 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  If  she  accepts  me,  I'll  make  it  impossible  for  her 
not  to  be  happy,"  he  said  to  himself,  in  all  the  fine 
unselfishness  of  passion — not  divine  unselfishness  but 
human — not  the  kind  we  read  about  and  pretend  to  have 
— and  get  a  savage  attack  of  bruised  vanity  if  we  are 
accused  of  not  having  it — no,  but  just  the  kind  we 
have  and  show  in  our  daily  lives — the  unselfishness  of 
longing  to  make  happy  those  whom  it  would  make  us 
happier  to  see  happy.  "  She  may  think  she  cares  for 
this  young  clerk — "  so  ran  his  thoughts — "  but  she 
doesn't  know  her  own  mind.  When  she  is  mine,  I'll  take 
her  in  hand  as  a  gardener  does  a  delicate  rare  flower 
— and,  by  Heaven,  how  I  shall  make  her  blossom  and 
bloom!" 

It  would  hardly  be  possible  for  a  human  being  to 
pass  a  stormier  night  than  was  that  night  of  his. 
Alternations  between  hope  and  despair — fantastic  pic 
tures  of  future  with  and  without  her,  wild  pleadings 
with  her — those  delirious  transports  to  which  our  imag 
inations  give  way  if  we  happen  to  be  blessed  and  cursed 
with  imaginations — in  the  security  of  the  darkness  and 
aloneness  of  night  and  bed.  And  through  it  all  he  was 
tormented  body  and  soul  by  her  loveliness — her  hair, 
her  skin,  her  eyes,  the  shy,  slender  graces  of  her  form — 
He  tossed  about  until  his  bed  was  so  wildly  disheveled 
that  he  had  to  rise  and  remake  it. 

When  day  came  and  the  first  mail,  there  was  her 
letter  on  the  salver  of  the  boy  entering  the  room, 

318 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  reached  for  it  with  eager,  trembling  arm,  drew  back. 
"  Put  it  on  the  table,"  he  said. 

The  boy  left.  He  was  alone.  Leaning  upon  his 
elbow  in  the  bed  he  stared  at  the  letter  with  hollow, 
terrified  eyes.  It  contained  his  destiny.  If  she  accepted, 
he  would  go  up,  for  his  soul  sickness  would  be  cured. 
If  she  refused,  he  would  cease  to  struggle.  He  rose, 
took  from  a  locked  drawer  a  bottle  of  rye  whisky.  He 
poured  a  tall  glass — the  kind  called  a  bar  glass — half 
full,  drank  it  straight  down  without  a  pause  or  a  quiver. 
The  shock  brought  him  up  standing.  He  looked  and 
acted  like  his  former  self  as  he  went  to  the  table,  took 
the  letter,  opened  it9  and  read : 

"  I  am  willing  to  marry  you,  if  you  really  want  me. 
I  am  so  tired  of  struggling,  and  I  don't  see  anything  but 
dark  ahead. — D.  H." 

Norman  struggled  over  to  the  bed,  threw  himself 
down,  flat  upon  his  back,  arms  and  legs  extended  wide 
and  whole  body  relaxed.  He  felt  the  blood  whirl  up 
into  his  brain  like  the  great  red  and  black  tongues  of 
flame  and  smoke  in  a  conflagration,  and  then  he  slept 
|  soundly  until  nearly  one  o'clock. 

To  an  outsider  there  would  have  been  a  world  of 

j  homely  commonplace  pathos  in  that  little  letter  of  the 

|  girl's  if  read  aright,  that  is  to  say,  if  rea'd  with  what 

was  between  the  lines  supplied.     It  is  impossible  to  live 

319 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


in  cities  any  length  of  time  and  with  any  sort  of  eyes 
without  learning  the  bitter  unromantic  truths  about 
poverty — city  poverty.  In  quiet,  desolate  places  one 
may  be  poor,  very  poor,  without  much  conscious  suffer 
ing.  There  are  no  teasing  contrasts,  no  torturing 
temptations.  But  in  a  city,  if  one  knows  anything  at 
all  of  the  possibilities  of  civilized  life,  of  the  joys  and 
comforts  of  good  food,  clothing,  and  shelter,  of  theater 
and  concert  and  excursion,  of  entertaining  and  being 
entertained,  poverty  becomes  a  hell.  In  the  country, 
in  the  quiet  towns,  the  innocent  people  wonder  at  the 
greediness  of  the  more  comfortable  kinds  of  city  people, 
at  their  love  of  money,  their  incessant  dwelling  upon 
it,  their  reverence  for  those  who  have  it,  their  panic- 
like  flight  from  those  who  have  it  not.  They  wonder 
how  folk,  apparently  human,  can  be  so  inhuman.  Let 
them  be  careful  how  they  judge.  If  you  discover  any 
human  being  anywhere  acting  as  you  think  a  human 
being  should  not,  investigate  all  the  circumstances,  look 
thoroughly  into  all  the  causes  of  his  or  her  conduct,  be 
fore  you  condemn  him  or  her  as  inhuman,  unworthy  of 
your  kinship  and  your  sympathy. 

In  her  brief  letter  the  girl  showed  that,  young  though 
she  was  and  not  widely  experienced  in  life,  she  yet  had 
seen  the  horrors  of  city  poverty,  how  it  poisons  and 
kills  all  the  fine  emotions.  She  had  seen  many  a  loving 
young  couple  start  out  confidently,  with  a  few  hundred 
dollars  of  debt  for  furniture — had  seen  the  love  fade 

320 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


and  wither,  shrivel,  die — had  seen  appear  peevishness 
and  hatred  and  unfaithfulness  and  all  the  huge,  foul 
weeds  that  choke  the  flowers  of  married  life.  She  knew 
what  her  lover's  salary  would  buy — and  what  it  would 
not  buy — for  two.  She  could  imagine  their  fate  if 
there  should  be  three  or  more.  She  showed  frankly  her 
selfishness  of  renunciation.  But  there  could  be  read 
between  the  lines — concealed  instead  of  vaunted — per 
haps  unsuspected — her  unselfishness  of  renunciation  for 
the  sake  of  her  lover  and  for  the  sake  of  the  child  or 
the  children  that  might  be.  In  our  love  of  moral  sham 
and  glitter,  we  overlook  the  real  beauties  of  human 
morality;  we  even  are  so  dim  or  vulgar  sighted  that  we 
do  not  see  them  when  they  are  shown  to  us. 

As  Norman  awakened,  he  reached  for  the  telephone, 
said  to  the  boy  in  charge  of  the  club  exchange :  "  Look 
in  the  book,  find  the  number  of  a  lawyer  named  Brans- 
combe,  and  connect  me  with  his  office."  After  some 
confusion  and  delay  he  got  the  right  office,  but  Dorothy 
was  out  at  lunch.  He  left  a  message  that  she  was  to 
call  him  up  at  the  club  as  soon  as  she  came  in.  He  was 
shaving  when  the  bell  rang. 

He  was  at  the  receiver  in  a  bound.  "  Is  it  you  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  Yes,"  came  in  her  quiet,  small  voice. 

"Will  you  resign  down  there  to-day?  Will  you 
marry  me  this  afternoon?  " 

A  brief  silence,  then—"  Yes." 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Thus  it  came  about  that  they  met  at  the  City  Hall 
license  bureau,  got  their  license,  and  half  an  hour  later 
were  married  at  the  house  of  a  minister  in  East  Thirty- 
third  Street,  within  a  block  of  the  Subway  station.  He 
was  feverish,  gay,  looked  years  younger  than  his  thirty- 
seven.  She  was  quiet,  dim,  passive,  neither  grave  nor 
gay,  but  going  through  her  part  without  hesitation, 
with  much  the  same  patient,  plodding  expression  she 
habitually  bore  as  she  sat  working  at  her  machine — as 
if  she  did  not  quite  understand,  but  was  doing  her  best 
and  hoped  to  get  through  not  so  badly. 

"  I've  had  nothing  to  eat,"  said  he  as  they  came  out 
of  the  parsonage. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  she. 

"  We'll  go  to  Delmonico's,"  said  he,  and  hailed  a 
passing  taxi. 

On  the  way,  he  sitting  in  one  corner  explained  to  her, 
shrunk  into  the  other  corner :  "  I  can  confess  now  that 
I  married  you  under  false  pretenses.  I  am  not  prosper 
ous,  as  I  used  to  be.  To  be  brief  and  plain,  I'm  down 
and  out,  professionally." 

She  did  not  move.  Apparently  she  did  not  change 
expression.  Yet  he,  speaking  half  banteringly,  felt 
some  frightful  catastrophe  within  her.  "  You  are — 
poor?  "  she  said  in  her  usual  quiet  way. 

"  We  are  poor,"  corrected  he.  "  I  have  at  present 
only  a  thousand  dollars  a  month — a  little  more,  but  not 
enough  to  talk  about." 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  did  not  move  or  change  expression.  Yet  he  felt 
that  her  heart,  her  blood  were  going  on  again. 

"  Are  you — angry  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  thousand  dollars  a  month  seems  an  awful  lot  of 
money  to  me,"  she  said. 

"  It's  nothing — nothing  to  what  we'll  soon  have. 
Trust  me."  And  back  into  his  eyes  flashed  their  former 
look.  "  I've  been  sick.  I'm  well  again.  I  shall  get 
what  I  want.  If  you  want  anything,  you've  only  to 
ask  for  it.  I'll  get  it.  I  know  how.  ...  I  don't  prey, 
myself — I've  no  fancy  for  the  brutal  sports.  But  I 
teach  lions  how  to  prey,  and  I  make  them  pay  for  the 
lessons."  He  laughed  with  an  effervescing  of  young 
vitality  and  self-confidence  that  made  him  look  handsome 
and  powerful.  "  In  the  future  they'll  have  to  pay  still 
higher  prices." 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  weary,  wondering, 
pathetic  eyes  that  gazed  from  the  pallor  of  her  dead- 
white  face  mysteriously. 

"  What  are  you  thinking?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  listening,"  replied  she. 

"  Doesn't  it  make  you  happy — what  you  are  going 
to  have?" 

"  No,"  replied  she.     "  But  it  makes  me  content." 

With  eyes  suddenly  suffused,  he  took  her  hand — so 
gently.  "  Dorothy,"  he  said,  "  you  will  try  to  love 
me?" 

"  I'll  try,"  said  she.    "  You'll  be  kind  to  me?  " 
323 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  couldn't  be  anything  else,"  he  cried.  And  in  a 
gust  of  passion  he  caught  her  to  his  breast  and  kissed 
her  triumphantly.  "  I  love  you — and  you're  mine — 
mine ! " 

She  released  herself  with  the  faint  insistent  push 
that  seemed  weak,  but  always  accomplished  its  purpose. 
Her  lip  was  trembling.  "  You  said  you'd  be  kind,"  she 
murmured. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  baffled  expression.  "  Oh — I 
understand,"  he  said.  "  And  I  shall  be  kind.  But  I 
must  teach  you  to  love  me." 

Her  trembling  lip  steadied.  "  You  must  be  careful 
or  you  may  teach  me  to  hate  you,"  said  she. 

He  studied  her  in  a  puzzled  way,  laughed.  "  What 
a  mystery  you  are !  "  he  cried  with  raillery.  "  Are  you 
child  or  are  you  woman  ?  No  matter.  We  shall  be 
happy." 

The  taxicab  was  swinging  to  the  curb.  In  the  res 
taurant  he  ordered  an  enormous  meal.  And  he  ate 
enormously,  and  drank  in  due  proportion.  She  ate  and 
drank  a  good  deal  herself — a  good  deal  for  her.  And 
the  results  were  soon  apparent  in  a  return  of  the  spirits 
that  are  normal  to  twenty-one  years,  regardless  of  what 
may  be  lurking  in  the  heart,  in  a  dark  corner,  to  come 
forth  and  torment  when  there  is  nothing  to  distract  the 
attention. 

"  We  shall  have  to  live  quietly  for  a  while,"  said  he. 
"  Of  course  you  must  have  clothes — at  once.  I'll  take 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


you  shopping  to-morrow."  He  laughed  grimly. 
"  Just  at  present  we  can  get  only  what  we  pay  cash  for. 
Still,  you  won't  need  much.  Later  on  I'll  take  you  over 
to  Paris.  Does  that  attract  you  ?  " 

Her  eyes  shone.     "  How  soon  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  can  tell  you  in  a  week  or  ten  days."  He  became 
abstracted  for  a  moment.  "  I  can't  understand  how  I 
let  them  get  me  down  so  easily — that  is,  I  can't  under 
stand  it  now.  I  suppose  it's  just  the  difference  between 
being  weak  with  illness  and  strong  with  health."  His 
eyes  concentrated  on  her.  "  Is  it  really  you?  "  he  cried 
gaily.  "  And  are  you  really  mine  ?  No  wonder  I  feel 
strong!  It  was  always  that  way  with  me.  I  never 
could  leave  a  thing  until  I  had  conquered  it." 

She  gave  him  a  sweet  smile.  "  I'm  not  worth  all  the 
trouble  you  seem  to  have  taken  about  me,"  said  she. 

He  laughed;  for  he  knew  the  intense  vanity  so 
pleasantly  hidden  beneath  her  shy  and  modest  exterior. 
"  On  the  contrary,"  said  he  good-humoredly,  "  you  in 
your  heart  think  yourself  worth  any  amount  of  trouble. 
It's  a  habit  we  men  have  got  you  women  into.  And 
you —  One  of  the  many  things  that  fascinate  me  in 
you  is  your  supreme  self-control.  If  the  king  were  to 
come  down  from  his  throne  and  fall  at  your  feet,  you'd 
take  it  as  a  matter  of  course." 

She  gazed  away  dreamily.  And  he  understood  that 
her  indifference  to  matters  of  rank  and  wealth  and 
power  was  not  wholly  vanity  but  was,  in  part  at  least, 

325 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


due  to  a  feeling  that  love  was  the  only  essential.  Nor 
did  he  wonder  how  she  was  reconciling  this  belief  of  high 
and  pure  sentiment  with  what  she  was  doing  in  marry 
ing  him.  He  knew  that  human  beings  are  not  consis 
tent,  cannot  be  so  in  a  universe  that  compels  them  to 
face  directly  opposite  conditions  often  in  the  same  mo 
ment.  But  just  as  all  lines  are  parallel  in  infinity,  so 
all  actions  are  profoundly  consistent  when  referred  to 
the  infinitely  broad  standard  of  the  necessity  that  every 
living  thing  shall  look  primarily  to  its  own  well  being. 
Disobedience  to  this  fundamental  carries  with  it  in 
evitable  punishment  of  disintegration  and  death;  and 
those  catastrophes  are  serious  matters  when  one  has  but 
the  single  chance  at  life,  that  will  be  repeated  never 
again  in  all  the  eternities. 

After  their  late  lunch  or  early  dinner,  they  drove  to 
her  lodgings.  He  went  up  with  her  and  helped  her  to 
pack — not  a  long  process,  as  she  had  few  belongings. 
He  noted  that  the  stockings  and  underclothes  she  took 
from  the  bureau  drawers  were  in  anything  but  good  con 
dition,  that  the  half  dozen  dresses  she  took  from  the 
closet  and  folded  on  the  couch  were  about  done  for. 
Presently  she  said,  cheerfully  and  with  no  trace  af  false 
shame : 

"  You  see,  I'm  pretty  nearly  in  rags." 
"Oh,   that's   soon   arranged,"   replied  he.     "Why 
bother  to  take  these  things?     Why  not  give  them  to 
the  maid?  " 

8*6 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  debated  with  herself.  "  I  think  you're  right," 
she  decided.  "  Yes,  I'll  give  them  to  Jennie." 

"  The  underclothes,  too,"  he  urged.  "  And  the 
hats." 

It  ended  in  her  having  left  barely  enough  loosely  to 
fill  the  bottom  of  a  small  trunk  with  two  trays. 

They  drove  to  the  Knickerbocker  Hotel,  and  he  took 
a  small  suite,  one  of  the  smallest  and  least  luxurious  in 
the  house,  for  with  all  his  desire  to  make  her  feel  the 
contrast  of  her  change  of  circumstances  sharply,  he 
could  not  forget  how  limited  his  income  was,  and  how 
unwise  it  would  be  to  have  to  move  in  a  few  days  to 
humbler  quarters.  He  hoped  that  the  rooms,  en- 
glamoured  by  the  hotel's  general  air  of  costly  luxury, 
would  sufficiently  impress  her.  And  while  she  gave  no 
strong  indication  but  accepted  everything  in  her  wonted 
quiet,  passive  manner,  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that 
she  was  content.  "  To-morrow,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  after  she  has  done  some  shopping,  the  last  regret  will 
leave  her,  and  her  memory  of  that  clerk  will  begin  to 
fade  fast.  I'll  give  her  too  much  else  to  think  about." 

The  following  morning,  when  they  faced  each  other 
at  breakfast  in  their  sitting  room,  he  glanced  at  her 
from  time  to  time  in  wonder  and  terror.  She  looked  not 
merely  insignificant,  but  positively  homely.  Her  skin 
had  a  sickly  pallor ;  her  hair  seemed  to  be  of  many  dif 
ferent  and  disagreeable  shades  of  uninteresting  dead 

327 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


yellow.  Her  eyes  suggested  faded  blue  china  dishes, 
with  colorless  lashes  and  reddened  edges  of  the  lids. 
Her  lips  had  lost  their  rosy  freshness,  her  teeth  their 
sparkling  whiteness. 

His  heavy  heart  seemed  to  be  resting  nauseously 
upon  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  Was  his  infatuation  sheer 
delusion,  with  no  basis  of  charm  in  her  at  all?  Was 
she,  indeed,  nothing  but  this  unattractive,  faded  little 
commonplaceness  ? — a  poor  specimen  of  an  inferior 
order  of  working  girl  ?  What  an  awakening !  And  she 
was  his  wife! — was  his  companion  for  the  yet  more 
brilliant  career  he  had  resolved  and  was  planning !  He 
must  introduce  her  everywhere,  must  see  the  not  to  be 
concealed  amazement  in  the  faces  of  his  acquaintances, 
must  feel  the  cruel  covert  laughter  and  jeering  at  his 
weak  folly!  Was  there  ever  in  history  or  romance  a 
parallel  to  such  fatuity  as  his?  Why,  people  would  be 
right  in  thinking  him  a  sham,  a  mere  bluffer  at  the  high 
and  strong  qualities  he  was  reputed  to  have. 

Had  Norman  been,  in  fact,  the  man  of  ice  and  iron 
the  compulsions  of  a  career  under  the  social  system  made 
him  seem,  the  homely  girl  opposite  him  that  morning 
would  speedily  have  had  something  to  think  about  other 
than  her  unhappiness  of  the  woman  who  has  given  her 
person  to  one  man  and  her  heart  to  another.  Instead, 
the  few  words  he  addressed  to  her  were  all  gentleness  and 
forbearance.  Stronger  than  his  chagrin  was  his  pity 
for  her — the  poor,  unconscious  victim  of  his  mad  hallu- 

328 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


cination.  If  she  thought  about  the  matter  at  all,  she 
assumed  that  he  was  still  the  slave  of  her  charms — for, 
the  florid  enthusiasm  of  man's  passion  inevitably  deludes 
the  woman  into  fancying  it  objective  instead  of  wholly 
subjective;  and,  only  the  rare  very  wise  woman,  after 
much  experience,  learns  to  be  suspicious  of  the  validity 
of  her  own  charms  and  to  concentrate  upon  keeping  up 
the  man's  delusions. 

At  last  he  rose  and  kissed  her  on  the  brow  and  let 
his  hand  rest  gently  on  her  shoulder — what  a  difference 
between  those  caresses  and  the  caresses  that  had  made 
her  beg  him  to  be  "  kind  "  to  her !  Said  he : 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  leave  you  alone  for  a  while?  I 
ought  to  go  to  the  club  and  have  the  rest  of  my  things 
packed  and  sent.  I'll  not  be  gone  long — about  an 
hour." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she  lifelessly. 

"I'll  telephone  my  office  that  I'll  not  be  down 
to-day." 

With  an  effort  she  said,  "  There's  no  reason  for  do 
ing  that.  I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  your  business." 

"  I'm  neglecting  nothing.  And  that  shopping  must 
be  done." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  went  to  the  window,  and 
from  the  height  looked  down  and  out  upon  the  mighty 
spread  of  the  city.  He  observed  her  a  moment  with  a 
dazed  pitying  expression,  took  his  hat  and  departed. 

It  was  nearly  two  hours  before  he  got  together  suffi- 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


cient  courage  to  return.  He  had  been  hoping — had 
been  saying  to  himself  with  vigorous  effort  at  confidence 
— that  he  had  simply  seen  one  more  of  the  many  trans 
formations,  each  of  which  seemed  to  present  her  as  a 
wholly  different  personality.  When  he  should  see  her 
again,  she  would  have  wiped  out  the  personality  that 
had  shocked  and  saddened  him,  would  appear  as  some 
new  variety  of  enchantress,  perhaps  even  more  potent 
over  his  senses  than  ever  before.  But  a  glance  as  he 
entered  demolished  that  hope.  She  was  no  different 
than  when  he  left.  Evidently  she  had  been  crying,  and 
spasms  of  that  sort  always  accentuate  every  unloveli- 
ness.  He  did  not  try  to  nerve  himself  to  kiss  her,  but 
said: 

"  It'll  not  take  you  long  to  get  ready  ?  " 

She  moved  to  rise  from  her  languid  rest  upon  the 
sofa.  She  sank  back.  "  Perhaps  we'd  better  not  go 
to-day,"  suggested  she. 

"  Don't  you  feel  well?  "  he  asked,  and  his  tone  was 
more  sympathetic  than  it  would  have  been  had  his  sym 
pathy  been  genuine. 

"  Not  very,"  replied  she,  with  a  faint  deprecating 
smile.  "  And  not  very — not  very " 

"  Not  very  what  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  encourage 
ment. 

"  Not  very  happy,"  she  confessed.  "  I'm  afraid 
Pve  made  a — a  dreadful  mistake." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence.  She  could  have  said 
330 


"Evident.1v   she   had    been 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


nothing  that  would  have  caused  a  livelier  response  within 
I  himself.  His  cynicism  noted  the  fact  that  while  he  had 
mercifully  concealed  his  discontent,  she  was  thinking 
only  of  herself.  But  he  did  not  blame  her.  It  was 
only  the  familiar  habit  of  the  sex,  bred  of  man's  as 
siduous  cultivation  of  its  egotism.  He  said :  "  Oh,  you'll 
feel  differently  about  it  later.  Let's  get  some  fresh  air 
and  see  what  the  shops  have  to  offer." 

A  pause,  then  she,  timidly :  "  Would  you  mind  very 
much  if  I — if  I  didn't — go  on  ?  " 

"  You  mean,  if  you  left  me?  " 

She  nodded  without  looking  at  him.  He  could  not 
understand  himself,  but  as  he  sat  observing  her,  so 
young,  so  inexperienced  and  so  undesirable,  a  pity  of 
which  he  would  not  have  dreamed  his  nature  capable 
welled  up  in  him,  choking  his  throat  with  sobs  he  could 
scarcely  restrain  and  filling  his  eyes  with  tears  he  had 
secretly  to  wipe  away.  And  he  felt  himself  seized  of  a 
sense  of  responsibility  for  her  as  strong  in  its  solemn, 
still  way  as  any  of  the  paroxysms  of  his  passion  had 
been. 

He  said :  "  My  dear — you  mustn't  decide  anything 
so  important  to  you  in  a  hurry." 

A  tremor  passed  over  her,  and  he  thought  she  was 
going  to  dissolve  in  hysterics.  But  she  exhibited  once 
more  that  marvelous  and  mysterious  self-control,  whose 
secret  had  interested  and  baffled  him.  She  said  in  her 
dirn,  quiet  way : 

331 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  It  seems  to  me  I  just  can't  stay  on." 

"  You  can  always  go,  you  know.  Why  not  try  it  a 
few  days  ?  " 

He  could  feel  the  trend  of  her  thoughts,  and  in  the 
way  things  often  amuse  us  without  in  the  least  moving 
us  to  wish  to  laugh,  he  was  amused  by  noting  that  she 
was  trying  to  bring  herself  to  stay  on,  out  of  considera 
tion  for  his  feelings !  He  said  with  a  kind  of  paternal 
tenderness : 

"  Whenever  you  want  to  go,  I  am  willing  to  arrange 
things  for  you — so  that  you  needn't  worry  about  money. 
But  I  feel  that,  as  I  am  older  than  you,  I  ought  to  do  all 
I  can  to  keep  you  from  making  a  mistake  you  might 
soon  regret." 

She  studied  him  dubiously.  He  saw  that  she — 
naturally  enough — did  not  believe  in  his  disinterested 
ness,  that  she  hadn't  a  suspicion  of  his  change,  or, 
rather  collapse,  of  feeling.  She  said : 

"  If  you  ask  it,  I'll  stay  a  while.  But  you  must 
promise  to — to  be  kind  to  me." 

There  was  only  gentleness  in  his  smile.  But  what  a 
depth  of  satirical  self-mockery  and  amusement  at  her 
innocent  young  egotism  it  concealed !  "  You'll  never 
have  reason  to  speak  of  that  again,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

"  I — can — trust  you  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Absolutely,"  replied  he.  "  I'll  have  another  room 
opened  into  this  suite.  Would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  If  you — if  you  don't  mind." 
332 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  stood  up  with  sudden  boyish  buoyance.  "  Now 
— let's  go  shopping.  Let's  amuse  ourselves." 

She  rose  with  alacrity.  She  eyed  him  uncertainly, 
then  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 
"  You  are  so  good  to  me !  "  she  cried.  "  And  I'm  not  a 
bit  nice." 

He  did  not  try  to  detain  her,  but  sent  her  to  finish 
dressing,  with  an  encouraging  pat  on  the  shoulder  and  a 
cheerful,  "  Don't  worry  about  yourself — or  me." 


XVII 

ABOUT  half  an  hour  later  the  door  into  the  bedroom 
opened  and  she  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  sitting 
room,  ready  for  the  street.  He  stared  at  her  in  the 
dazed  amazement  of  a  man  faced  by  the  impossible,  and 
uncertain  whether  it  is  sight  or  reason  that  is  tricking 
him.  She  had  gone  into  the  bedroom  not  only  homely 
but  commonplace,  not  only  commonplace  but  common, 
a  dingy  washed-out  blonde  girl  whom  it  would  be  a  hu 
miliation  to  present  as  his  wife.  She  was  standing  there, 
in  the  majesty  of  such  proud  pale  beauty  as  poets  de 
light  to  ascribe  to  a  sorrowful  princess.  Her  wonderful 
skin  was  clear  and  translucent,  giving  her  an  ethereal 
look.  Her  hair  reminded  him  again  of  what  marvels  he 
had  seen  in  the  sunlight  of  Sunday  afternoon.  And 
looking  at  her  form  and  the  small  head  so  gracefully 
capping  it,  he  could  think  only  of  the  simile  that  had 
always  come  to  him  in  his  moments  of  ecstasy — the  lily 
on  its  tall  stem. 

And  once  more,  like  a  torrent,  the  old  infatuation 
sprang  from  its  dried  sources  and  came  rushing  and 
overwhelming  through  vein  and  nerve.  "  Am  I  mad 

334 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


nowp — was  I  macl  a  few  moments  ago? — is  it  she  or  is 
it  my  own  disordered  senses  ?  " 

She  was  drawing  on  her  gloves,  was  unconscious  of 
his  confusion.  He  controlled  himself  and  said :  "  You 
have  a  most  disconcerting  way  of  changing  your  appear 
ance." 

She  glanced  down  at  her  costume.  "  No,  it's  the 
same  dress.  I've  only  the  one,  you  know." 

He  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  but  could  not 
trust  himself.  And  this  wonder-girl,  his  very  own,  was 
talking  of  leaving  him !  And  he — not  an  hour  before — 
he,  apparently  in  his  right  senses  had  been  tolerating 
such  preposterous  talk!  Give  her  up?  Never!  He 
must  see  to  it  that  the  subject  did  not  find  excuse  for 
intruding  again.  "  I  have  frightened  her — have  dis 
gusted  her.  I  must  restrain  myself.  I  must  be  patient 
— and  teach  her  slowly — and  win  her  gradually." 

They  spent  an  interesting  and  even  exciting  after 
noon,  driving  from  shop  to  shop  and  selecting  the  first 
beginnings  of  her  wardrobe.  He  had  only  about  three 
hundred  dollars.  Some  of  the  things  they  ordered  were 
ready  for  delivery,  and  so  had  to  be  paid  for  at  once. 
When  they  returned  to  the  hotel  he  had  but  fifty  dollars 
left — and  had  contracted  debts  that  made  it  necessary 
for  him  to  raise  at  least  a  thousand  dollars  within  a  week. 
He  saw  that  his  freedom  with  sums  of  money  which  ter 
rified  her  filled  her  with  awe  and  admiration — and  that 
he  was  already  more  successful  than  he  had  expected  to 

335 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


be,  in  increasing  her  hesitation  about  leaving  him. 
Among  the  things  they  had  bought  were  a  simple  black 
chiffon  dress  and  a  big  plumed  black  hat  to  match. 
These  needed  no  alterations  and  were  delivered  soon 
after  they  returned.  Some  silk  stockings  came  also  and 
a  pair  of  slippers  bought  for  the  dinner  toilet. 

"  You  can  dress  to-night,"  said  he,  "  and  I'll  take 
you  to  Sherry's,  and  to  the  theater  afterwards." 

She  was  delighted.  At  last  she  was  going  to  look 
like  the  women  of  whom  she  had  been  dreaming  these 
last  few  months.  She  set  about  dressing  herself,  he 
waiting  in  the  sitting  room  in  a  state  of  acute  nervous 
ness.  What  would  be  the  effect  of  such  a  toilet  ?  Would 
she  look  like  a  lady — or  like — what  she  had  suggested 
that  morning?  She  was  so  changeable,  had  such  a  wide 
range  of  variability  that  he  dared  not  hope.  When  she 
finally  appeared,  he  was  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship. 
He  was  about  to  take  her  where  his  world  would  see  her, 
where  every  inch  of  her  would  be  subjected  to  the  cruel- 
est,  most  hostile  criticism.  One  glance  at  her,  and  he 
knew  a  triumph  awaited  him.  No  man  and  no  woman 
would  wonder  that  he  had  lost  his  head  over  such  beauty 
as  hers.  Hat  and  dress  seemed  just  what  had  been 
needed  to  bring  out  the  full  glory  of  her  charms. 

"  You  are  incredibly  beautiful,"  he  said  in  an  awed 
tone.  "  I  am  proud  of  you." 

A  little  color  came  into  her  cheeks.  She  looked  at 
herself  in  the  mirror  with  her  quiet  intense  secret,  yet 

336 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


not  covert  vanity.  He  laughed  in  boyish  pleasure. 
"  This  is  only  the  small  beginning,"  said  he.  "  Wait  a 
few  months." 

At  dinner  and  in  a  box  at  the  theater  afterwards,  he 
had  the  most  exquisite  pleasure  of  his  life.  She  had  been 
seen  by  many  of  his  former  friends,  and  he  was  certain 
they  knew  who  she  was.  He  felt  that  he  would  have  no 
difficulty  in  putting  her  in  the  place  his  wife  should 
occupy.  A  woman  with  such  beauty  as  hers  was  a  sen 
sation,  one  fashionable  society  would  not  deny  itself. 
She  had  good  manners,  an  admirable  manner.  With  a 
little  coaching  she  would  be  as  much  at  home  in  gran 
deur  as  were  those  who  had  always  had  it. 

The  last  fear  of  losing  her  left  him.  On  the  way 
back  to  the  hotel  he,  in  a  delirium  of  pride  and  passion, 
crushed  her  in  his  arms  and  caressed  her  with  the  frenzy 
that  had  always  terrified  her.  She  resisted  only  faintly, 
was  almost  passive.  "  She  is  mine !  "  he  said  to  himself, 
exultantly.  "  She  is  really  mine !  " 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning  she  was  still  asleep — 
looked  like  a  tired  lovely  child.  Several  times,  while  he 
was  dressing,  he  went  in  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  her 
beauty.  How  could  he  possibly  have  thought  her 
homely,  in  whatever  moment  of  less  beauty  or  charm 
she  might  have  had?  The  crowning  charm  of  infinite 
variety !  She  had  a  delightfully  sweet  disposition.  He 
was  not  sure  how  much  or  how  little  intelligence  she 

337 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


had — probably  more  than  most  women.  But  what  did 
that  matter  ?  It  would  be  impossible  ever  to  grow  weary 
or  to  be  anything  but  infatuated  lover  when  she  had 
such  changeful  beauty. 

He  kissed  her  lightly  on  her  thick  braids,  as  he  was 
about  to  go.  He  left  a  note  explaining  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  disturb  her  and  that  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  be  at  the  office  earlier.  And  that  morning  in  all 
New  York  no  man  left  his  home  for  the  day's  struggle 
for  dollars  with  a  freer  or  happier  heart,  or  readier  to 
play  the  game  boldly,  skillfully,  with  success. 

Certainly  he  needed  all  his  courage  and  all  his  skill. 

To  most  of  the  people  who  live  in  New  York  and 
elsewhere  throughout  the  country — or  the  world,  for 
that  matter — an  income  of  a  thousand  dollars  a  month 
seems  extremely  comfortable,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  The 
average  American  family  of  five  has  to  scrape  along 
on  about  half  that  sum  a  year.  But  among  the  com 
fortable  classes  in  New  York — and  perhaps  in  one  or 
two  other  cities — a  thousand  dollars  a  month  is  literally 
genteel  poverty.  To  people  accustomed  to  what  is 
called  luxury  nowadays — people  with  the  habit  of  the 
private  carriage,  the  private  automobile,  and  several 
servants — to  such  people  a  thousand  dollars  a  month  is 
an  absurd  little  sum.  It  would  not  pay  for  the  food 
alone.  It  would  not  buy  for  a  man  and  his  wife,  with 
no  children,  clothing  enough  to  enable  them  to  make  a 
decent  appearance. 

338 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman,  living  alone  and  living  very  quietly  indeed, 
might  have  got  along  for  a  while  on  that  sum,  if  he  had 
taken  much  thought  about  expenditures,  had  persisted 
in  such  severe  economies  as  using  street  cars  instead  of 
taxicabs  and  drinking  whisky  at  dinner  instead  of  his 
customary  quart  of  six-dollar  champagne.  Norman, 
the  married  man,  could  not  escape  disaster  for  a  single 
month  on  an  income  so  pitiful. 

Probably  on  the  morning  on  which  he  set  out  for 
downtown  in  search  of  money  enough  to  enable  him  to 
live  decently,  not  less  than  ten  thousand  men  on  Man 
hattan  Island  left  comfortable  or  luxurious  homes  faced 
with  precisely  the  same  problem.  And  each  and  every 
one  of  them  knew  that  on  that  day  or  some  day  soon 
they  must  find  the  money  demanded  imperiously  by  their 
own  and  their  families'  tastes  and  necessities  or  be  ruined 
— flung  out,  trampled  upon,  derided  as  failures,  hated 
by  the  "  loved  ones  "  they  had  caused  to  be  humiliated. 
And  every  man  of  that  legion  had  a  fine,  an  unusually 
fine  brain — resourceful,  incessant,  teeming  with  schemes 
for  wresting  from  those  who  had  dollars  the  dollars  they 
dared  not  go  home  without.  And  those  ten  thousand 
quickest  and  most  energetic  brains,  by  their  mode  of 
thought  and  action,  determined  the  thought  and  action 
of  the  entire  country — gave  the  mercenary  and  unscru 
pulous  cast  to  the  whole  social  system.  Themselves  the 
victims  of  conditions,  they  were  the  bellwethers  to  mil 
lions  of  victims  compelled  to  follow  their  leadership. 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman,  by  the  roundabout  mode  of  communication 
he  and  Tetlow  had  established,  summoned  his  friend  and 
backer  to  his  office.  "  Tetlow,"  he  began  straight  off, 
"  I've  got  to  have  more  money." 

"How  much?"  said  Tetlow. 

"  More  than  you  can  afford  to  advance  me." 

"  How  much?  "  repeated  Tetlow. 

"  Three  thousand  a  month  right  away — at  the 
least." 

"  That's  a  big  sum,"  said  Tetlow. 

"  Yes,  for  a  man  used  to  dealing  in  small  figures. 
But  in  reality  it's  a  moderate  income." 

"  Few  large  families  spend  more." 

"  Few  large  or  small  families  in  my  part  of  New 
York  pinch  along  on  so  little." 

"  What  has  happened  to  you  ?  "  said  Tetlow,  drop 
ping  into  a  chair  and  folding  his  fat  hands  on  his 
stomach. 

"  Why?  "  asked  Norman. 

"  It's  in  your  voice — in  your  face — in  your  cool  de 
mand  for  a  big  income." 

"  Let's  start  right,  old  man,"  said  Norman.  "  Don't 
call  thirty-six  thousand  a  year  big  or  you'll  think  it  big. 
And  if  you  think  it  big,  you  will  stay  little." 

Tetlow  nodded.  "  I'm  ready  to  grow,"  said  he. 
"  Now  what's  happened  to  you  ?  " 

"  I've  got  married,"  replied  Norman. 

"  I  thought  so.    To  Miss— Hallowell?  " 
340 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  To  Miss  Hallowell.  So  my  way's  clear,  and  I'm 
going  to  resume  the  march." 

"Yes?" 

"  I've  two  plans.  Either  will  serve.  The  first  is 
yours — the  one  you  partly  revealed  to  me  the  other 
day." 

"Partly?"  said  Tetlow. 

"  Partly,"  repeated  Norman,  laughing.  "  I  know 
you,  Billy,  and  that  means  I  know  you're  absolutely  in 
capable  of  plotting  as  big  a  scheme  as  you  suggested 
to  me.  It  came  either  from  Galloway  or  from  some  one 
of  his  clique." 

"  I  said  all  I'm  at  liberty  to  say,  Fred." 

"  I  don't  wish  you  to  break  your  promise.  All  I 
want  to  know  is,  can  I  get  the  three  thousand  a  month 
and  assurance  of  its  lasting  and  leading  to  something 
bigger?" 

"  What  is  your  other  scheme  ?  "  said  Tetlow,  and  it 
was  plain  to  the  shrewder  young  lawyer  that  the  less 
shrewd  young  lawyer  wished  to  gain  time. 

"  Simple  and  sure,"  replied  Norman.  "  We  will  buy 
ten  shares  of  Universal  Fuel  Company  through  a  dummy 
and  bring  suit  to  dissolve  it.  I  looked  into  the  matter 
for  Burroughs  once  when  he  was  after  the  Fosdick- 
Langdon  group.  Universal  Fuel  wouldn't  dare  defend 
the  action  I  could  bring.  We  could  get  what  we  pleased 
for  our  ten  shares  to  let  up  on  the  suit.  The  moment 
their  lawyers  saw  the  papers  I'd  draw,  they'd  advise  it." 

341 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Tetlow  shook  his  large,  impressively  molded  head. 
"  Shady,"  said  he.  "  Shady." 

Norman  smiled  with  good-natured  patience,  "  You 
sound  like  Burroughs  or  Galloway  when  they  are  de 
nouncing  a  man  for  trying  to  get  rich  by  the  same 
methods  they  pursued.  My  dear  Bill,  don't  be  one  of 
those  lawyers  who  will  do  the  queer  work  for  a  client 
but  not  for  themselves.  There's  no  sense,  no  morality, 
no  intelligent  hypocrisy  even,  in  that.  We  didn't  create 
the  commercial  morality  of  the  present  day.  For  God's 
sake,  let's  not  be  of  the  poor  fools  who  practice  it  but 
get  none  of  its  benefits." 

Tetlow  shifted  uneasily.  "  I  don't  like  to  hear  that 
sort  of  thing,"  said  he,  apologetic  and  nervous. 

"Is  it  true?" 

"  Yes.     But— damn  it,  I  don't  like  to  hear  it." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you're  willing  to  pay  the  price  of 
remaining  small  and  obscure  just  for  the  pleasure  of 
indulging  in  a  wretched  hypocrisy  of  a  self-deception. 
Bill,  come  out  of  the  small  class.  Whether  you  go  in 
with  me  or  not,  come  out  of  the  class  of  understrappers. 
What's  the  difference  between  the  big  men  and  their 
little  followers?  Why,  the  big  men  see.  They  don't 
deceive  themselves  with  the  cant  they  pour  out  for  the 
benefit  of  the  ignorant  mob." 

Tetlow  was  listening  like  a  pupil  to  a  teacher.  That 
was  always  his  attitude  toward  Norman. 

"  The  big  men,"  continued  Norman,  "  know  that 
342 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


canting  is  necessary — that  one  must  always  profess 
high  and  disinterested  motives,  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 
But  they  don't  let  their  hypocritical  talk  influence  their 
actions.  How  is  it  with  the  little  fellows?  Why,  they 
believe  the  flapdoodle  the  leaders  talk.  They  go  into 
the  enterprise,  do  all  the  small  dirty  work,  lie  and  cheat 
and  steal,  and  hand  over  the  proceeds  to  the  big  fellows, 
for  the  sake  of  a  pat  on  the  back  and  a  noisy  '  Honest 
fellow !  Here  are  a  few  crumbs  for  you.'  And  crumbs 
are  all  that  a  weak,  silly,  hypocritical  fool  deserves. 
Can  you  deny  it?  " 

"  No  doubt  you're  right,  Fred,"  conceded  Tetlow. 
"  But  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  the  nerve." 

"  Come  in  behind  me.  I've  got  nerve  for  two — 
now!  " 

At  that  triumphant  "  now  "  Tetlow  looked  curiously 
at  his  friend.  "  Yes,  it  has  changed  you — changed  you 
back  to  what  you  were.  I  don't  understand." 

"  It  isn't  necessary  that  you  understand,"  rejoined 
Norman." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  really  carry  through  that 
scheme  you've  just  outlined?  " 

"  I  see  it  fascinates  you." 

"  I've  no  objection  to  rising  to  the  class  of  big 
men,"  said  Tetlow.  "  But  aren't  you  letting  your  con 
fidence  in  yourself  deceive  you  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ever  let  it  deceive  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  confessed  Tetlow.  "  I've  often  watched  you, 
343 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  thought  you'd  fall  through  it,  or  stumble  at  least. 
But  you  never  did." 

"  And  shall  I  tell  you  why?  Because  I  use  my  self- 
confidence  and  my  hopefulness  and  all  my  optimistic 
qualities  only  to  create  an  atmosphere  of  success.  But 
when  it  comes  to  planning  a  move  of  any  kind,  when 
I  assemble  my  lieutenants  round  the  council  board  in 
my  brain,  I  never  permit  a  single  cheerful  one  to  speak, 
or  even  to  enter.  It's  a  serious,  gloomy  circle  of  faces, 
Bill." 

Tetlow  nodded  reminiscently.  "  Yes,  you  always 
were  like  that,  Fred." 

"  And  the  one  who  does  the  most  talking  at  my 
council  is  the  gloomiest  of  all.  He's  Lieutenant  Flaw*- 
picker.  He  can't  see  any  hope  for  anything.  He  sees 
all  the  possibilities  of  failure.  He  sees  all  the  chances 
against  success.  And  what's  the  result?  Why,  when 
the  council  rises  it  has  taken  out  of  the  plan  every 
chance  of  mishap  that  my  intelligence  could  foresee — • 
and  it  has  provided  not  one  but  several  safe  lines  of 
orderly  retreat  in  case  success  proves  impossible." 

Tetlow  gazed  at  Norman  in  worshipful  admira 
tion.  "  What  a  brain !  What  a  mind !  "  he  ejaculated. 
"  And  to  think  that  you  could  be  upset  by  a  woman!  " 

Norman  leaned  back  in  his  chair  smiling  broadly. 
"  Not  by  a  woman,"  he  corrected.  "  By  a  girl — an  in 
experienced  girl  of  twenty." 

"  It  seems  incredible." 

344 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


grain  of  dust,  dropped  into  a  watch  movement 
in  just  the  right  place— you  know  what  happens." 

Tetlow  nodded.  Then,  with  a  sharp,  anxious  look, 
"But  it's  all  over?" 

Norman  hesitated.     "  I  believe  so,"  he  said. 

Tetlow  rose  and  rubbed  his  thighs.  He  had  been 
sitting  long  in  the  same  position,  and  he  was  now  stout 
enough  to  suffer  from  fat  man's  cramp.  "  Well,"  said 
he,  "  we  needn't  bother  about  that  Universal  Fuel 
scheme  at  present.  I  can  guarantee  you  the  three  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  the  other  things." 

Norman  shook  his  head.     "Not  enough,"  he  said. 

"  You  want  more  money  ?  " 

"  No.  But  I  will  not  work,  or  rather,  wait,  in  the 
dark.  Tell  your  principals  that  I  must  be  let  in." 

Tetlow  hesitated,  walking  about  the  office.  Finally 
he  said,  "  Look  here,  Fred — you  think  I  deceived  you 
the  other  day — posed  as  your  friend  when  in  reality 
I  was  simply  acting  as  agent  for  people  who  wanted 
you." 

Norman  gave  Tetlow  a  look  that  made  him  redden 
with  pleasure.  "  No,  I  don't,  old  man,"  said  he.  "  I 
know  you  recommended  me — and  that  they  were  shy  of 
me  because  of  the  way  I've  been  acting — and  that  you 
stood  sponsor  for  me.  Isn't  that  right?  " 

"  Something  like  that,"  admitted  Tetlow.  "  But 
they  were  eager  to  get  you.  It  was  only  a  question  of 
trusting  you.  I  was  able  to  do  you  a  good  turn  there." 

345 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  And  I'll  make  a  rich  man,  and  a  famous  one,  of 
you,"  said  Norman. 

"  Yes.  I  believe  you  will,"  cried  Tetlow,  tears  in 
his  prominent  studious  eyes.  "  I'll  see  those  people  in 
a  day  or  two,  and  let  you  know.  Do  you  need  money 
right  away?  Of  course  you  do."  And  down  he  sat  and 
drew  a  check  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 

Norman  laughed  as  he  glanced  to  see  if  it  was  cor 
rectly  drawn.  "  I'd  not  have  dared  return  to  my  bride 
with  empty  pockets.  That's  what  it  means  to  live  in 
New  York." 

Tetlow  grinned.  "  A  sentimental  town,  isn't  it? 
Especially  the  women." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  blame  them,"  said  Norman.  "  They 
need  the  money,  and  the  only  way  they've  got  of  mak 
ing  it  is  out  of  sentiment.  And  you  must  admit  they 
give  a  bully  good  quality,  if  the  payment  is  all  right." 

Tetlow  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I'm  glad  I  don't 
need  them,"  said  he.  "  It  gives  me  the  creeps  to  see 
them  gliding  about  with  their  beautiful  dresses  and 
their  sweet,  soft  faces." 

He  and  Norman  lunched  together  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  restaurant.  After  a  busy  and  a  happy  afternoon, 
Norman  returned  early  to  the  hotel.  He  had  cashed 
his  check.  He  was  in  funds.  He  would  give  her  an 
other  and  more  thrilling  taste  of  the  joy  that  was  to 
be  hers  through  him — and  soon  she  would  be  giving 
even  as  she  got — for  he  would  teach  her  not  to  fear 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


love,  not  to  shrink  from  it,  but  to  rejoice  in  it  and  to 
let  it  permeate  and  complete  all  her  charms. 

He  ascended  to  the  apartment  and  knocked.  There 
was  no  answer.  He  searched  in  vain  for  a  chamber 
maid  to  let  him  in.  He  descended  to  the  office.  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Norman,"  said  one  of  the  clerks.  "  Your  wife  left 
this  note  for  you." 

Norman  took  it.     "  She  went  out?  " 

"  About  three  o'clock — with  a  young  gentleman 
who  called  on  her.  They  came  back  a  while  ago  and 
she  left  the  note." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Norman.  He  took  his  key, 
went  up  to  the  apartment.  Not  until  he  had  closed  and 
locked  the  door  did  he  open  the  note.  He  read : 

"  Last  night  you  broke  your  promise.  So  I  am 
going  away.  Don't  look  for  me.  It  won't  be  any  use. 
When  I  decide  what  to  do  I'll  send  you  word." 

He  was  standing  at  the  table.  He  tossed  the  note 
on  the  marble,  threw  open  the  bedroom  door.  The 
black  chiffon  dress,  the  big  plumed  hat,  and  all  the 
other  articles  they  had  bought  were  spread  upon  the 
bed,  arranged  with  the  obvious  intention  that  he  should 
see  at  a  glance  she  had  taken  nothing  away  with  her. 

"  Hell!  "  he  said  aloud.  "  Why  didn't  I  let  her  go 
yesterday  morning?  " 


XVIII 

A  FEW  days  later,  Tetlow,  having  business  with  Nor 
man,  tried  to  reach  him  by  telephone.  After  several 
failures  he  went  to  the  hotel,  and  in  the  bar  learned 
enough  to  enable  him  to  guess  that  Norman  was  off  on 
a  mad  carouse.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  trail 
or  in  following  it ;  the  difficulty  lay  in  catching  up,  for 
Norman  was  going  fast.  Not  until  late  at  night — that 
is,  early  in  the  morning — of  the  sixth  day  from  the  be 
ginning  of  his  search  did  he  get  his  man. 

He  was  prepared  to  find  a  wreck,  haggard,  wildly 
nervous  and  disreputably  disheveled;  for,  so  far  as  he 
could  ascertain  Norman  had  not  been  to  bed,  but  had 
gone  on  and  on  from  one  crowd  of  revelers  to  another, 
in  a  c\ty  where  it  is  easy  to  find  companions  in  dissipa 
tion  at  any  hour  of  the  twenty-four.  Tetlow  was  even 
calculating  upon  having  to  put  off  their  business  many 
weeks  while  the  crazy  man  was  pulling  through  deliri 
um  tremens  or  some  other  form  of  brain  fever. 

An  astonishing  sight  met  his  eyes  in  the  Third 
Avenue  oyster  house  before  which  the  touring  car  Nor 
man  had  been  using  was  drawn  up.  At  a  long  table, 
eating  oysters  as  fast  as  the  opener  could  work,  sat 

348 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman  and  his  friend  Gaskill,  a  fellow  member  of  the 
Federal  Club,  and  about  a  score  of  broken  and  battered 
tramps.  The  supper  or  breakfast  was  going  forward 
in  admirable  order.  Gaskill,  whom  Norman  had 
picked  up  a  few  hours  before,  showed  signs  of  having 
done  some  drinking.  But  not  Norman.  It  is  true  his 
clothing  might  have  looked  fresher;  but  hardly  the 
man  himself, 

"  Just  in  time !  "  he  cried  out  genially,  at  sight  of 
Tetlow.  "  Sit  down  with  us.  Waiter,  a  chair  next  to 
mine.  Gentlemen,  Mr.  Tetlow.  Mr.  Tetlow,  gentlemen. 
What'll  you  have,  old  man?  " 

Tetlow  declined  champagne,  accepted  half  a  dozen 
of  the  huge  oysters.  "  I've  been  after  you  for  nearly 
a  week,"  said  he  to  Norman. 

"  Pity  you  weren't  with  me,"  said  Norman.  "  I've 
been  getting  acquainted  with  large  numbers  of  my  fel 
low  citizens." 

"  From  the  Bowery  to  Yonkers." 

"  Exactly.     Don't  fall  asleep,  Gaskill." 

But  Gaskill  was  snoring  with  his  head  on  the  back 
of  his  chair  and  his  throat  presented  as  if  for  the  ax 
of  the  executioner.  "  He's  all  in,"  said  Tetlow. 

"  That's  the  way  it  goes,"  complained  Norman. 
"  I  can't  find  anyone  to  keep  me  company." 

Tetlow  laughed.  "  You  look  as  if  you  had  just 
started  out,"  said  he.  "  Tell  me — where  have  you 
slept?  " 

349 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  haven't  had  time  to  sleep  as  yet." 

"  I  dropped  in  to  suggest  that  a  little  sleep  wouldn't 
do  any  harm." 

"  Not  quite  yet.  Watch  our  friends  eat.  It  gives 
me  an  appetite.  Waiter,  another  dozen  all  round — and 
some  more  of  this  carbonated  white  wine  you've  labeled 
champagne." 

As  he  called  out  this  order,  a  grunt  of  satisfaction 
ran  round  the  row  of  human  derelicts.  Tetlow  shud 
dered,  yet  was  moved  and  thrilled,  too,  as  he  glanced 
from  face  to  face — those  hideous  hairy  countenances, 
begrimed  and  beslimed,  each  countenance  expressing 
in  its  own  repulsive  way  the  one  emotion  of  gratified 
longing  for  food  and  drink.  "  Where  did  you  get 
'em?  "  inquired  he. 

"  From  the  benches  in  Madison  Square,"  replied 
Norman.  He  laughed  queerly.  "  Recognize  yourself 
in  any  of  those  mugs,  Tetlow?  "  he  asked. 

Tetlow  shivered.  "  I  should  say  not !  "  he  ex 
claimed. 

Norman's  eyes  gleamed.  "  I  see  myself  in  all  of 
'em,"  said  he. 

"Poor   wretches!"   muttered  Tetlow. 

"  Pity  wasted,"  he  rejoined.  "  You  might  feel 
sorry  for  a  man  on  the  way  to  where  they've  got.  But 
once  arrived — as  well  pity  a  dead  man  sleeping  quietly 
in  his  box  with  three  feet  of  solid  earth  between  him  and 
worries  of  every  kind." 

350 


THE    GRAIN    OF   DUST 


"  Shake  this  crowd,"  said  Tetlow  impatiently.  "  I 
want  to  talk  with  you." 

"  All  right,  if  it  bores  you."  He  sent  the  waiter 
out  for  enough  lodging-house  tickets  to  provide  for  all. 
He  distributed  them  himself,  to  make  sure  that  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  restaurant  did  not  attempt  to  graft. 
Then  he  roused  Gaskill  and  bundled  him  into  the  car 
and  sent  it  away  to  his  address.  The  tramps  gath 
ered  round  and  gave  Norman  three  cheers — they 
pressed  close  while  four  of  them  tried  to  pick  his  and 
Tetlow's  pockets.  Norman  knocked  them  away  good- 
naturedly,  and  he  and  Tetlow  climbed  into  Tetlow's 
hansom. 

"  To  my  place,"  suggested  Tetlow. 

"  No,  to  mine — the  Knickerbocker,"  replied  Nor 
man. 

"  I'd  rather  you  went  to  my  place  first,"  said  Tet 
low  uneasily. 

"  My  wife  isn't  with  me.  She  has  left  me,"  said 
Norman  calmly. 

Tetlow  hesitated,  extremely  nervous,  finally  acqui 
esced.  They  drove  a  while  in  silence,  then  Norman 
said,  "  What's  the  business?  " 

"  Galloway  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  to  my  office  to-morrow — that 
means  to-day — at  any  time  after  eleven." 

"  But  that  gives  you  no  chance  to  pull  yourself 
together,"  objected  Tetlow. 

351 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Norman's  face,  seen  in  the  light  of  the  street  lamp 
they  happened  to  be  passing,  showed  ironic  amusement. 
"  Never  mind  about  me,  Billy.  Tell  him  to  come." 

Tetlow  cleared  his  throat  nervously.  "  Don't  you 
think,  old  man,  that  you'd  better  go  to  see  him?  I'll 
arrange  the  appointment." 

Norman  said  quietly :  "  Tetlow,  I've  dropped  pretty 
far.  But  not  so  far  that  I  go  to  my  clients.  The  rule 
of  calls  is  that  the  man  seeking  the  favor  goes  to  the 
man  who  can  grant  it." 

"  But  it  isn't  the  custom  nowadays  for  a  lawyer  to 
deal  that  way  with  a  man  like  Galloway." 

"  And  neither  is  it  the  custom  for  anyone  to  have 
any  self-respect.  Does  Galloway  need  my  brains  more 
than  I  need  his  money,  or  do  I  need  his  money  more 
than  he  needs  my  brains?  You  know  what  the  answer 
to  that  is,  Billy.  We  are  partners — you  and  I.  I'm 
training  you  for  the  position." 

"  Galloway  won't  come,"  said  Tetlow  curtly. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  him,"  retorted  Norman 
placidly.  "  No — I've  not  been  drinking  too  much,  old 
man — as  your  worried-old-maid  look  suggests.  Do  a 
little  thinking.  If  Galloway  doesn't  get  me,  whom 
will  he  get?" 

"  You  know  very  well,  Norman,  there  are  scores  of 
lawyers,  good  ones,  who'd  crawl  at  his  feet  for  his 
business.  Nowadays,  most  lawyers  are  always  looking 
round  for  a  pair  of  rich  man's  boots  to  lick." 

352 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  But  I  am  not  '  most  lawyers,' "  said  Norman. 
"  Of  course,  if  Galloway  could  make  me  come  to  him, 
he'd  be  a  fool  to  come  to  me.  But  when  he  finds  I'm 
not  coming,  why,  he'll  behave  himself — if  his  business 
is  important  enough  for  me  to  bother  with." 

"  But  if  he  doesn't  come,  Fred?  " 

"  Then — my  Universal  Fuel  scheme,  or  some  other 
equally  good.  But  you  will  never  see  me  limbering  my 
knees  in  the  anteroom  of  a  rich  man,  when  he  needs 
me  and  I  don't  need  him." 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  said  Tetlow,  with  the  air  of  a 
sober  man  patient  with  one  who  is  not  sober. 

"  By  the  way,"  continued  Norman,  "  if  Galloway 
says  he's  too  ill  to  come — or  anything  of  that  sort — 
tell  him  I'd  not  care  to  undertake  the  affairs  of  a  man 
too  old  or  too  feeble  to  attend  to  business,  as  he  might 
die  in  the  midst  of  it." 

Tetlow's  face  was  such  a  wondrous  exhibit  of  dis 
comfiture  that  Norman  laughed  outright.  Evidently 
he  had  forestalled  his  fat  friend  in  a  scheme  to  get  him 
to  Galloway  in  spite  of  himself.  "  All  right — all  right," 
said  Tetlow  fretfully.  "We'll  sleep  on  this.  But  I 
don't  see  why  you're  so  opposed  to  going  to  see  the 
man.  It  looks  like  snobbishness  to  me — false  pride — 
silly  false  pride." 

"  It  is  snobbishness,"  said  Norman.  "  But  you 
forget  that  snobbishness  rules  the  world.  The  way  to 
rule  fools  is  to  make  them  respect  you.  And  the  way 

353 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


to  make  them  respect  you  is  by  showing  them  that 
they  are  your  inferiors.  I  want  Galloway's  respect  be 
cause  I  want  his  money.  And  I'll  not  get  his  money — 
as  much  of  it  as  belongs  to  me — except  by  showing 
him  my  value.  Not  my  value  as  a  lawyer,  for  he 
knows  that  already,  but  my  value  as  a  man.  Do  you 
see?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"   snapped  Tetlow. 

"  That's  what  it  means  to  be  Tetlow.  Now,  I  do 
see — and  that's  why  I'm  Norman." 

Tetlow  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  uncertain  whether 
he  had  been  listening  to  wisdom  put  in  a  jocose  form 
of  audacious  egotism  or  to  the  effervescings  of  intoxica 
tion.  The  hint  of  a  smile  lurking  in  the  sobriety  of 
the  powerful  features  of  his  extraordinary  friend  only 
increased  his  doubt.  Was  Norman  mocking  him,  and 
himself  as  well?  If  so,  was  it  the  mockery  of  sober 
sense  or  of  drunkenness? 

"  You  seem  to  be  puzzled,  Billy,"  said  Norman,  and 
Tetlow  wondered  how  he  had  seen.  "  Don't  get  your 
brains  in  a  stew  trying  to  understand  me.  I'm  acting 
the  way  I've  always  acted — except  in  one  matter.  You 
know  that  I  know  what  I'm  about?  " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  replied  his  admirer. 

"  Then,  let  it  go  at  that.  If  you  could  understand 
me — the  sort  of  man  I  am,  the  sort  of  thing  I  do — 
you'd  not  need  me,  but  would  be  the  whole  show  yourself 
— -eh?  That  being  true,  don't  show  yourself  a  com- 

354 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


monplace  nobody  by  deriding  and  denying  what  your 
brain  is  unable  to  comprehend.  Show  yourself  a  some 
body  by  seeing  the  limitations  of  your  ability.  The 
world  is  full  of  little  people  who  criticise  and  judge  and 
laugh  at  and  misunderstand  the  few  real  intelligences. 
And  very  tedious  interruptions  of  the  scenery  those  little 
people  are.  Don't  be  one  of  them.  .  .  .  Did  you  know 
my  wife's  father?  " 

Tetlow  startled.  "  No — that  is,  yes,"  he  stammered. 
"  That  is,  I  met  him  a  few  times." 

"  Often  enough  to  find  out  that  he  was  crazy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  explained  some  of  his  ideas  to  me. 
Yes — he  was  quite  mad,  poor  fellow." 

Norman  gave  way  to  a  fit  of  silent  laughter.  "  I 
can  imagine,"  he  presently  said,  "  what  you'd  have 
thought  if  Columbus  or  Alexander  or  Napoleon  or 
Stevenson  or  even  the  chaps  who  doped  out  the  tele 
phone  and  the  telegraph — if  they  had  talked  to  you 
before  they  arrived.  Or  even  after  they  arrived,  if  they 
had  been  explaining  some  still  newer  and  bigger  idea 
not  yet  accomplished." 

"  You  don't  think  Mr.  Hallowell  was  mad?  " 

"  He  was  mad,  assuming  that  you  are  the  standard 
of  sanity.  Otherwise,  he  was  a  great  man.  There'll 
be  statues  erected  and  pages  of  the  book  of  fame  devoted 
to  the  men  who  carry  out  his  ideas." 

"  His  death  was  certainly  a  great  loss  to  his  daugh 
ter,"  said  Tetlow  in  his  heaviest,  most  bourgeois  manner. 

355 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  said  he  was  a  great  man,"  observed  Norman. 
"  I  didn't  say  he  was  a  great  father.  A  great  man  is 
never  a  great  father.  It  takes  a  small  man  to  be  a 
great  father." 

"  At  any  rate,  her  having  no  parents  or  relatives 
doesn't  matter,  now  that  she  has  you,"  said  Tetlow,  his 
manner  at  once  forced  and  constrained. 

"  Um,"  muttered  Norman. 

Said  Tetlow :  "  Perhaps  you  misunderstood  why  I — 
I  acted  as  I  did  about  her,  toward  the  last." 

"  It  was  of  no  importance,"  said  Norman  brusquely. 
"  I  wish  to  hear  nothing  about  it." 

"  But  I  must  explain,  Fred.  She  piqued  me  by 
showing  so  plainly  that  she  despised  me.  I  must  admit 
the  truth,  though  I've  got  as  much  vanity  as  the  next 
man,  and  don't  like  to  admit  it.  She  despised  me,  and 
it  made  me  mad." 

An  expression  of  grim  satire  passed  over  Norman's 
face.  Said  he :  "  She  despised  me,  too." 

"Yes,  she  did,"  said  Tetlow.  "And  both  of  us 
were  certainly  greatly  her  superiors — in  every  sub 
stantial  way.  It  seemed  to  me  most — most " 

"  Most  impertinent  of  her  ?  "  suggested  Norman. 

"  Precisely.     Most  impertinent." 

"  Rather  say,  ignorant  and  small.  My  dear  Tet 
low,  let  me  tell  you  something.  Anybody,  however  in 
significant,  can  be  loved.  To  be  loved  means  nothing, 
except  possibly  a  hallucination  in  the  brain  of  the  lover. 

356 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


But  to  love — that's  another  matter.     Only  a  great  soul 
is  capable  of  a  great  love." 

"  That  is  true,"  murmured  Tetlow  sentimentally, 
preening  in  a  quiet,  gentle  way. 

Said  Norman  sententiously :  "  You  stopped  loving. 
It  was  I  that  kept  on." 

Tetlow  looked  uncomfortable.  "  Yes — yes,"  he  said. 
"  But  we  were  talking  of  her — of  her  not  appreciating 
the  love  she  got.  And  I  was  about  to  say — "  Ear 
nestly —  "  Fred,  she's  not  to  be  blamed  for  her  folly ! 
She's  very,  very  young — and  has  all  the  weaknesses  and 
vanities  of  youth " 

"  Here  we  are,"  interrupted  Norman. 

The  hansom  had  stopped  in  Forty-second  Street  be 
fore  the  deserted  but  still  brilliantly  lighted  entrances 
to  the  great  hotel.  Norman  sprang  out  so  lightly  and 
surely  that  Tetlow  wondered  how  it  was  possible  for 
this  to  be  the  man  who  had  been  racketing  and  roister 
ing  day  after  day,  night  after  night  for  nearly  a  week. 
He  helped  the  heavy  and  awkward  Tetlow  to  descend, 
said: 

"  You'll  have  to  pay,  Bill.  I've  got  less  than  a 
dollar  left.  And  I  touched  Gaskill  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  to-night.  You  can  imagine  how  drunk  he  was,  to 
let  me  have  it.  How  they've  been  shying  off  from 
me  these  last  few  months !  " 

"  And  you  want  Galloway  to  come  to  you"  thrust 
Tetlow,  as  he  counted  out  the  money. 

357 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Don't  go  back  and  chew  on  that,"  laughed  Nor 
man.  "  It's  settled."  He  took  the  money,  gave  it  to 
the  driver.  "  Thanks,"  he  said  to  Tetlow.  "  I'll  pa}' 
you  to-morrow — that  is,  later  to-day — when  you  send 
me  another  check." 

"Why  should  you  pay  for  my  cab?"  rejoined 
Tetlow. 

"  Because  it's  easier  for  me  to  make  money  than  it 
is  for  you,"  replied  Norman.  "  If  you  were  in  my  po 
sition — the  position  I've  been  in  for  months — would 
anybody  on  earth  give  you  three  thousand  dollars  a 
month?" 

Tetlow  looked  sour.  His  good  nature  was  rubbing 
thin  in  spots. 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper,"  laughed  Norman. 
"  I'm  pounding  away  at  you  about  my  superiority 
partly  because  I've  been  drinking,  but  chiefly  for  your 
own  good — so  that  you'll  realize  I'm  right  and  not  mess 
things  with  Galloway." 

They  went  up  to  Norman's  suite.  Norman  tried  to 
unlock  the  door,  found  it  already  unlocked.  He  turned 
the  knob,  threw  the  door  wide  for  Tetlow  to  enter  first. 
Then,  over  Tetlow's  shoulder  he  saw  on  the  marble- 
topped  center  table  Dorothy's  hat  and  jacket,  the  one 
she  had  worn  away,  the  only  one  she  had.  He  stared 
at  them,  then  at  Tetlow.  A  confused  look  in  the  fat, 
slow  face  made  him  say  sharply: 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Tetlow?  " 
358 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Not  so  loud,  Fred,"  said  Tetlow,  closing  the  door 
into  the  public  hall.  "  She's  in  the  bedroom — prob 
ably  asleep.  She's  been  here  since  yesterday." 

"  You  brought  her  back  ?  "  demanded  Norman. 

"  She  wanted  to  come.     I  simply ' 

Norman  made  a  silencing  gesture.  Tetlow's  falter 
ing  voice  stopped  short.  Norman  stood  near  the  table, 
his  hands  deep  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  the  hat  and  jacket.  When  Tetlow's  agitation 
could  bear  the  uncertainties  of  that  silence  no  longer, 
he  went  on : 

"  Fred,  you  mustn't  forget  how  young  and  inexpe 
rienced  she  is.  She's  been  foolish,  but  nothing  more. 
She's  as  pure  as  when  she  came  into  the  world.  And 
it's  the  truth  that  she  wanted  to  come  back.  I  saw  it 
as  soon  as  I  began  to  talk  with  her." 

"What  are  you  chattering  about?"  said  Norman 
fiercely.  "  Why  did  you  meddle  in  my  affairs  ?  Why 
did  you  bring  her  back?  " 

"  I  knew  she  needed  you,"  pleaded  Tetlow.  "  Then, 
too — I  was  afraid —  I  knew  how  you  acted  before, 
and  I  thought  you'd  not  get  your  gait  again  until  you 
had  her." 

Norman  gave  a  short  sardonic  laugh.  "  If  you'd 
only  stop  trying  to  understand  me !  "  he  said. 

Tetlow  was  utterly  confused.  "  But,  Fred,  you 
don't  realize — not  all,"  he  cried  imploringly.  "  She 
discovered — she  thinks,  I  believe — that  is — she — she 

359 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


— that  probably — that  in  a  few  months  you'll  be  some 
thing  more  than  a  husband — and  she  something  more 
than  a  wife — that  you — that — you  and  she  will  be  a 
father  and  a  mother." 

Tetlow's  meaning  slowly  dawned  on  Norman.  He 
seated  himself  in  his  favorite  attitude,  legs  sprawled, 
fingers  interlaced  behind  his  head. 

"  Wasn't  I  right  to  bring  her  back — to  tell  her  she 
needn't  fear  to  come?  "  pleaded  Tetlow. 

Norman  made  no  reply.  After  a  brief  silence  he 
said :  "  Well,  good  night,  old  man.  Come  round  to 
my  office  any  time  after  ten."  He  rose  and  gave  Tet 
low  his  hand.  "  And  arrange  for  Galloway  whenever 
you  like.  Good  night." 

Tetlow  hesitated.  "  Fred — you'll  not  be  harsh  to 
her?  "  he  said. 

Norman  smiled — a  satirical  smile,  yet  exquisitely 
gentle.  "  If  you  only  wouldn't  try  to  understand  me, 
Bill,"  he  said. 

When  he  was  alone  he  sat  lost  in  thought.  At  last 
he  rang  for  a  bell  boy.  And  when  the  boy  came,  he 
said :  "  That  door  there  " — indicating  one  in  the  oppo 
site  wall  of  the  sitting  room — "  what  does  it  lead 
into?" 

"  Another  bedroom,  sir." 

"  Unlock  it,  and  tell  them  at  the  office  I  wish  that 
room  added  to  my  suite." 

As  soon  as  the  additional  bedroom  was  at  his  dis- 
360 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


posal,  he  went  in  and  began  to  undress.  When  he  had 
taken  off  coat  and  waistcoat  he  paused  to  telephone 
to  the  office  a  call  for  eight  o'clock.  As  he  finished  and 
hung  up  the  receiver,  a  sound  from  the  direction  of  the 
sitting  room  made  him  glance  in  there.  On  the  thresh 
old  of  the  other  bedroom  stood  his  wife.  She  was  in 
her  nightgown;  her  hair,  done  in  a  single  thick  braid, 
hung  down  across  her  bosom.  There  was  in  the  room 
and  upon  her  childish  loveliness  the  strange  comming 
ling  of  lights  and  shadows  that  falls  when  the  electric 
ity  is  still  on  and  the  early  morning  light  is  pushing 
in  at  the  windows.  They  looked  at  each  other  in  si 
lence  for  some  time.  If  she  was  frightened  or  in  the 
least  embarrassed  she  did  not  show  it.  She  simply 
looked  at  him,  while  ever  so  slowly  a  smile  dawned — 
a  gleam  in  the  eyes,  a  flutter  round  the  lips,  growing 
merrier  and  merrier.  He  did  not  smile.  He  continued 
to  regard  her  gravely. 

"  I  heard  you  and  Mr.  Tetlow  come  in,"  she  said. 
"  Then — you  talked  so  long — I  fell  asleep  again.  I 
only  this  minute  awakened." 

"  Well,  now  you  can  go  to  sleep  again,"  said  he. 

"  But  I'm  not  a  bit  sleepy.  What  are  you  doing  in 
that  room  ?  " 

She  advanced  toward  his  door.  He  stood  aside. 
She  peeped  in.  She  was  so  close  to  him  that  her  night 
gown  brushed  the  bosom  of  his  shirt.  "  Another  bed 
room  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Just  like  ours." 

361 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  didn't  wish  to  disturb  you,"  said  he,  calm  and 
grave. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  been  disturbing  me,"  pro 
tested  she,  leaning  against  the  door  frame,  less  than 
two  feet  away  and  directly  facing  him. 

"  I'll  stay  on  here,"  said  he. 

She  gazed  at  him  with  great  puzzled  eyes.  "  Aren't 
you  glad  I'm  back?  "  she  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he  with  a  polite  smile.  "  But  I 
must  get  some  sleep."  And  he  moved  away. 

"  You  must  let  me  tell  you  how  I  happened  to  go 
and  why  I  came 

"  Please,"  he  interrupted,  looking  at  her  with  a 
piercing  though  not  in  the  least  unfriendly  expression 
that  made  her  grow  suddenly  pale  and  thoughtful.  "  I 
do  not  wish  to  hear  about  it — not  now — not  ever.  Tet- 
low  told  me  all  that  it's  necessary  for  me  to  know. 
You  have  come  to  stay,  I  assume  ?  " 

"  Yes— if  "—her  lip  quivered—"  if  you'll  let  me." 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  that,"  said  he  with 
the  same  polite  gravity  he  had  maintained  throughout. 

"  You  want  me  to  leave  you  alone  ?  " 

"  Please.  I  need  sleep  badly — and  I've  only  three 
hours." 

"  You  are — angry  with  me  ?  " 

He  looked  placidly  into  her  lovely,  swimming  eyes. 
"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  But  how  can  you  help  being?   I  acted  dreadfully." 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  smiled  gently.  "  But  you  are  back — and  the 
incident  is  closed." 

She  looked  down  at  the  carpet,  her  fingers  playing 
with  her  braid,  twisting  and  untwisting  its  strands.  He 
stood  waiting  to  close  the  door.  She  said,  without  lift 
ing  her  eyes — said  in  a  quiet,  expressionless  way,  "  I 
have  killed  your  love?  " 

"  I'll  not  trouble  you  any  more,"  evaded  he.  And 
he  laid  his  hand  significantly  upon  the  knob. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  murmured.  Then,  with 
a  quick  apologetic  glance  at  him,  "  But  I'm  very  incon 
siderate.  You  want  to  sleep.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  said  he,  beginning  to  close  the  door. 

She  impulsively  stood  close  before  him,  lifted  her 
small  white  face,  as  if  for  a  kiss.  "  Do  you  forgive 
me?  "  she  asked.  "  I  was  foolish.  I  didn't  understand 
— till  I  went  back.  Then — nothing  was  the  same.  And 
I  knew  I  wasn't  fitted  for  that  life — and  didn't  really 
care  for  him — and " 

He  kissed  her  on  the  brow.  "  Don't  agitate  your 
self,"  said  he.  "  And  we  will  never  speak  of  this  again." 

She  shrank  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  Her  head 
drooped,  and  her  shoulders.  When  she  was  clear  of 
the  door*  he  quietly  closed  it. 


XIX 

IT  was  not  many  minutes  after  ten  when  Tetlow 
hurried  into  Norman's  office.  "  Galloway's  coming  at 
eleven !  "  said  he,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  So  you  mulled  over  what  I  said  and  decided  that 
I  was  not  altogether  drunk?  " 

"  I  wasn't  sure  of  that,"  replied  Tetlow.  "  But  I 
was  afraid  you'd  be  offended  if  I  didn't  try  to  get  him. 
He  gave  me  no  trouble  at  all.  As  soon  as  I  told  him 
you'd  be  glad  to  see  him  at  your  office,  he  astounded  me 
by  saying  he'd  come." 

"  He  and  I  have  had  dealings,"  said  Norman. 
"  He  understood  at  once.  I  always  know  my  way  when 
I'm  dealing  with  a  big  man.  It's  only  the  little  people 
that  are  muddled  and  complex.  I  hope  you'll  not  for 
get  this  lesson,  Billy." 

"  I  shan't,"  promised  Tetlow. 

"  We  are  to  be  partners,"  pursued  Norman.  "  We 
shall  be  intimately  associated  for  years.  You'll  save 
me  a  vast  amount  of  time  and  energy  and  yourself  a 
vast  amount  of  fuming  and  fretting,  if  you'll  simply 
accept  what  I  say,  without  discussion.  When  I  want 
discussion  I'll  ask  your  advice." 

364 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I'm  afraid  you  don't  think  it's  worth  much,"  said 
Tetlow  humbly,  "  and  I  guess  it  isn't." 

"  On  the  contrary,  invaluable,"  declared  Norman 
with  flattering  emphasis.  "  Where  you  lack  and  I  excel 
is  in  decision  and  action.  I'll  often  get  you  to  tell  me 
what  ought  to  be  done,  and  then  I'll  make  you  do  it — 
which  you'd  never  dare,  by  yourself." 

At  eleven  sharp  Galloway  came,  looking  as  nearly 
like  a  dangerous  old  eagle  as  a  human  being  well  could. 
Rapacious,  merciless,  tyrannical;  a  famous  philanthro 
pist.  Stingy  to  pettiness ;  a  giver  away  of  millions. 
Rigidly  honest,  yet  absolutely  unscrupulous ;  faithful  to 
the  last  letter  of  his  given  word,  yet  so  treacherous  where 
his  sly  mind  could  nose  out  a  way  to  evade  the  spirit  of 
his  agreements  that  his  name  was  a  synonym  for  unfaith 
fulness.  An  assiduous  and  groveling  snob,  yet  so  mili- 
tantly  democratic  that,  unless  his  interest  compelled, 
he  would  not  employ  any  member  of  the  "  best  families  " 
in  any  important  capacity.  He  seemed  a  bundle  of  con 
tradictions.  In  fact  he  was  profoundly  consistent. 
That  is  to  say,  he  steadily  pursued  in  every  thought 
and  act  the  gratification  of  his  two  passions — wealth 
and  power.  He  lost  no  seen  opportunity,  however 
shameful,  to  add  to  his  fortune  or  to  amuse  himself 
with  the  human  race,  which  he  regarded  with  the  un- 
pitying  contempt  characteristic  of  every  cold  nature 
born  or  risen  to  success. 

His  theory  of  life — and  it  is  the  theory  that  explains 
365 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


most  great  financial  successes,  however  they  may  pre 
tend  or  believe — his  theory  of  life  was  that  he  did  not 
need  friends  because  the  friends  of  a  strong  man  weaken 
and  rob  him,  but  that  he  did  need  enemies  because  he 
could  grow  rich  and  powerful  destroying  and  despoiling 
them.  To  him  friends  suggested  the  birds  living  in  a 
tree.  They  might  make  the  tree  more  romantic  to  the 
unthinking  observer;  but  they  in  fact  ate  its  budding 
leaves  and  its  fruit  and  rotted  its  bough  joints  with 
their  filthy  nests. 

We  Americans  are  probably  nearest  to  children  of 
any  race  in  civilization.  The  peculiar  conditions  of 
life — their  almost  Arcadian  simplicity — up  to  a  genera 
tion  or  so  ago,  gave  us  a  false  training  in  the  study  of 
human  nature.  We  believe  what  the  good  preacher,  the 
novelist  and  the  poet,  all  as  ignorant  of  life  as  nursery 
books,  tell  us  about  the  human  heart.  We  fancy  that 
in  a  social  system  modeled  upon  the  cruel  and  immoral 
system  of  Nature,  success  is  to  the  good  and  kind.  Life 
is  like  the  pious  story  in  the  Sunday-school  library; 
evil  is  the  exception  and  to  practice  the  simple  virtues 
is  to  tread  with  sure  step  the  highway  to  riches  and 
fame.  This  sort  of  ignorance  is  taught,  is  proclaimed, 
is  apparently  accepted  throughout  the  world.  Litera 
ture  and  the  drama,  representing  life  as  it  is  dreamed 
by  humanity,  life  as  it  perhaps  may  be  some  day,  create 
an  impression  which  defies  the  plain  daily  a$d  hourly 
mockings  of  experience.  Because  weak  and  petty  of- 

366 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


fenders  are  often  punished,  the  universe  is  pictured  as 
sternly  enforcing  the  criminal  codes  enacted  by  priests 
or  lawyers.  But,  while  all  the  world  half  inclines  to  this 
agreeable  mendacity  about  life,  only  in  America  of  all 
civilization  is  the  mendacity  accepted  as  gospel,  and 
suspicion  about  it  frowned  upon  as  the  heresy  of  cyni 
cism.  So  the  Galloways  prosper  and  are  in  high  moral 
repute.  Some  day  we  shall  learn  that  a  social  system 
which  is  merely  a  slavish  copy  of  Nature's  barbarous 
and  wasteful  sway  of  the  survival  of  the  toughest  could 
be  and  ought  to  be  improved  upon  by  the  intelligence 
of  the  human  race.  Some  day  we  shall  put  Nature  in 
its  proper  place  as  kindergarten  teacher,  and  drop  it 
from  godship  and  erect  enlightened  human  understand 
ing  instead.  But  that  is  a  long  way  off.  Meanwhile  the 
Galloways  will  reign,  and  will  assure  us  that  they  won 
their  success  by  the  Decalogue  and  the  Golden  Rule — 
and  will  be  believed  by  all  who  seek  to  assure  for  them 
selves  in  advance  almost  certain  failure  at  material  suc 
cess  in  the  arena  of  action. 

But  they  will  not  be  believed  by  men  of  ambition, 
pushing  resolutely  for  power  and  wealth.  So  Frederick 
Norman  knew  precisely  what  he  was  facing  when  Gallo 
way's  tall  gaunt  figure  and  face  of  the  bird  of  prey 
appeared  before  him.  Galloway  had  triumphed  and  was 
triumphing  not  through  obedience  to  the  Sunday  ser 
mons  and  the  silly  novels,  poems,  plays,  and  the  non 
sense  chattered  by  the  obscure  multitudes  whom  the 

367 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


mighty  few  exploit,  but  through  obedience  to  the  con 
ditions  imposed  by  our  social  system.  If  he  raised 
wages  a  little,  it  was  in  order  that  he  might  have  ex 
cuse  for  raising  prices  a  great  deal.  If  he  gave  away 
millions,  it  was  for  his  fame,  and  usually  to  quiet  the 
scandal  over  some  particularly  wicked  wholesale  robbery. 
No,  Galloway  was  not  a  witness  to  the  might  of  altru 
istic  virtue  as  a  means  to  triumph.  Charity  and  all  the 
other  forms  of  chicanery  by  which  the  many  are  de 
frauded  and  fooled  by  the  few — those  "  virtues  "  he 
understood  and  practiced.  But  justice — humanity's 
ages-long  dream  that  at  last  seems  to  glitter  as  a  hope 
in  the  horizon  of  the  future — justice — not  legal  justice, 
nor  moral  justice,  but  human  justice — that  idea  would 
have  seemed  to  him  ridiculous,  Utopian,  something  for 
the  women  and  the  children  and  the  socialists. 

Norman  understood  Galloway,  and  Galloway  under 
stood  Norman.  Galloway,  with  an  old  man's  garrulity 
and  a  confirmed  moral  poseur's  eagerness  about  appear 
ances,  began  to  unfold  his  virtuous  reasons  for  the 
impending  break  with  Burroughs — the  industrial  and 
financial  war  out  of  which  he  expected  to  come  doubly 
rich  and  all  but  supreme.  Midway  he  stopped. 

"  You  are  not  listening,"  said  he  sharply  to  the 
young  man. 

Their  eyes  met.  Norman's  eyes  were  twinkling. 
"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  am  waiting." 

There  was  the  suggestion  of  an  answering  gleam  of 
368 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


sardonic  humor  in  Galloway's  cold  gray  eyes.  "  Wait 
ing  for  what  ?  " 

"  For  you  to  finish  with  me  as  father  confessor,  to 
begin  with  me  as  lawyer.  Pray  don't  hurry.  My  time 
is  yours."  This  with  a  fine  air  of  utmost  suavity  and 
respect. 

In  fact,  while  Galloway  was  doddering  on  and  on  with 
his  fake  moralities,  Norman  was  thinking  of  his  own 
affairs,  was  wondering  at  his  indifference  about  Dorothy. 
The  night  before — the  few  hours  before — when  he  had 
dealt  with  her  so  calmly,  he,  even  as  he  talked  and  lis 
tened  and  acted,  had  assumed  that  the  enormous  amount 
of  liquor  he  had  been  consuming  was  in  some  way  re 
sponsible.  He  had  said  to  himself,  "  When  I  am  over 
this,  when  I  have  had  sleep  and  return  to  the  normal,  I 
shall  again  be  the  foolish  slave  of  all  these  months." 
But  here  he  was,  sober,  having  taken  only  enough 
whisky  to  prevent  an  abrupt  let-down — here  he  was 
viewing  her  in  the  same  tranquil  light.  No  longer  all 
his  life ;  no  longer  even  dominant ;  only  a  part  of  life — 
and  he  was  by  no  means  certain  that  she  was  an  impor 
tant  part. 

How  explain  the  mystery  of  the  change?  Because 
she  had  voluntarily  come  back,  did  he  feel  that  she  was 
no  longer  baffling  but  was  definitely  his?  Or  had  pas 
sion  running  madly  on  and  on  dropped — perhaps  not 
dead,  but  almost  dead — from  sheer  exhaustion? — was 
it  weary  of  racing  and  content  to  saunter  and  to  stroll  ? 

369 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


.  .  .  He  could  not  account  for  the  change.  He  only 
knew  that  he  who  had  been  quite  mad  was  now  quite 
sane.  .  .  .  Would  he  like  to  be  rid  of  her?  Did  he 
regret  that  they  were  tied  together?  No,  curiously 
enough.  It  was  high  time  he  got  married ;  she  would 
do  as  well  as  another.  She  had  beauty,  youth,  amia 
bility,  physical  charm  for  him.  There  was  advantage 
in  the  fact  that  her  inferiority  to  him,  her  dependence 
on  him,  would  enable  him  to  take  as  much  or  as  little  of 
her  as  he  might  feel  disposed,  to  treat  her  as  the  war 
rior  must  ever  treat  his  entire  domestic  establishment 
from  wife  down  to  pet  dog  or  cat  or  baby.  .  .  .  No, 
he  did  not  regret  Josephine.  He  could  see  now  disad 
vantages  greater  than  her  advantages.  All  of  value  she 
would  have  brought  him  he  could  get  for  himself,  and 
she  would  have  been  troublesome — exacting,  disputing 
his  sway,  demanding  full  value  or  more  in  return  for 
the  love  she  was  giving  with  such  exalted  notions  of  its 
worth. 

"  You  are  married  ?  "  Galloway  suddenly  said,  inter 
rupting  his  own  speech  and  Norman's  thought. 

"  Yes,"  said  Norman. 

"  Just  married,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Just." 

Young  and  old,  high  and  low,  successful  and  failed, 
we  are  a  race  of  advice-givers.  As  for  Galloway,  he 
was  not  one  to  neglect  that  showy  form  of  inexpensive 
benevolence.  "  Have  plenty  of  children,"  said  he. 

370 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  And  keep  your  family  in  the  country  till  they  grow 
up.  Town's  no  place  for  women.  They  go  crazy. 
Women — and  most  men — have  no  initiative.  They 
think  only  about  whatever's  thrust  at  them.  In  the 
country  it'll  be  their  children  and  domestic  things.  In 
town  it'll  be  getting  and  spending  money." 

Norman  was  struck  by  this.  "  I  think  I'll  take  your 
advice,"  said  he. 

"  A  man's  home  ought  to  be  a  retreat,  not  an  inn. 
We  are  humoring  the  women  too  much.  They  are  for 
getting  who  earns  what  they  spend  in  exhibiting  them 
selves.  If  a  woman  wants  that  sort  of  thing,  let  her 
get  out  and  earn  it.  Why  should  she  expect  it  from  the 
man  who  has  undertaken  her  support  because  he  wanted 
a  wife  to  take  care  of  his  house  and  a  mother  for  his 
children?  If  a  woman  doesn't  like  the  job,  all  right. 
But  if  she  takes  it  and  accepts  its  pay,  why,  she  should 
do  its  work." 

"  Flawless  logic,"  said  Norman. 

"  When  I  hire  a  man  to  work,  he  doesn't  expect  to 
idle  about  showing  other  people  how  handsome  he  is  in 
the  clothes  my  money  pays  for.  Not  that  marriage  is 
altogether  a  business — not  at  all.  But,  my  dear  sir — ' 
And  Galloway  brought  his  cane  down  with  the  emphasis 
of  one  speaking  from  a  heart  full  of  bitter  experience — 
"  unless  it  is  a  business  at  bottom,  organized  and  con 
ducted  on  sound  business  principles,  there's  no  senti 
ment  either.  We  are  human  beings — and  that  means 

371 


TOE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


we  are  first  of  all  business  beings,  engaged  in  getting 
food,  clothing,  shelter.  No  sentiment — -no  sentiment, 
sir,  is  worth  while  that  isn't  firmly  grounded.  It's  a 
house  without  a  foundation.  It's  a  steeple  without  a 
church  under  it." 

Norman  looked  at  the  old  man  with  calm  penetrating 
eyes.  "  I  shall  conduct  my  married  life  on  a  sound, 
business  basis,  or  not  at  all,"  said  he. 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Galloway.  "  That's  what  7  said 
forty  years  ago —  No,  I  didn't.  I  had  no  sense  about 
such  matters  then.  In  my  youth  the  men  knew  nothing 
about  the  woman  question."  He  smiled  grimly.  "  I 
see  signs  that  they  are  learning." 

Then  as  abruptly  as  he  had  left  the  affairs  he  was 
there  to  discuss  he  returned  to  them.  His  mind  seemed 
to  have  freed  itself  of  all  irrelevancy  and  superfluity,  as 
a  stream  often  runs  from  a  faucet  with  much  spluttering 
and  rather  muddy  at  first,  then  steadies  and  clears. 
Norman  gave  him  the  attention  one  can  get  only  from 
a  good  mind  that  is  interested  in  the  subject  and  under 
stands  it  thoroughly.  Such  attention  not  merely  re 
ceives  the  words  and  ideas  as  they  fall  from  the  mouth 
of  him  who  utters  them,  but  also  seems  to  draw  them 
by  a  sort  of  suction  faster  and  in  greater  abundance. 
It  was  this  peculiar  ability  of  giving  attention,  as  much 
as  any  other  one  quality,  that  gave  Norman's  clients 
their  confidence  in  him.  Galloway,  than  whom  no  man 
was  shrewder  judge  of  men,  showed  in  his  gratified  eyes 

372 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  voice,  long  before  he  had  finished,  how  strongly  his 
conviction  of  Norman's  high  ability  was  confirmed. 

When  Galloway  ended,  Norman  rapidly  and  in  clear 
and  simple  sentences  summarized  what  Galloway  had 
said.  "  That  is  right?  "  he  asked. 

"  Precisely,"  said  Galloway  admiringly.  "  What  a 
gift  of  clear  statement  you  have,  young  man ! " 

"  It  has  won  me  my  place,"  said  Norman.  "  As  to 
your  campaign,  I  can  tell  you  now  that  the  legal  part  of 
it  can  be  arranged.  That  is  what  the  law  is  for — to 
enable  a  man  to  do  whatever  he  wants.  The  penalties 
are  for  those  who  have  the  stupidity  to  try  to  do  things 
in  an  unlawful  way." 

Galloway  laughed.  "  I  had  heard  that  they  were 
for  doing  unlawful  things." 

"  Nothing  is  unlawful,"  said  Norman,  "  except  in 
method." 

"  That's  an  interesting  view  of  courts  of  justice." 

"  But  we  have  no  courts  of  justice.  We  have  only 
courts  of  law." 

Galloway  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  till  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  "  What  a  gift  for  clear 
statement !  "  he  cried. 

Norman  beamed  appreciation  of  a  compliment  so 
flattering.  But  he  went  back  to  business.  "  As  I  was 
saying,  you  can  do  what  you  want  to  do.  You  wish 
me  to  show  you  how.  In  our  modern  way  of  doing 
things,  the  relation  of  lawyer  and  client  has  somewhat 

373 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


changed.  To  illustrate  by  this  case,  you  are  the  bear 
with  the  taste  for  honey  and  the  strength  to  rob  the 
bees.  I  am  the  honey  bird — that  is,  the  modern  lawyer 
— who  can  show  you  the  way  to  the  hive.  Most  of  the 
honey  birds — as  yet — are  content  with  a  very  small 
share  of  the  honey — whatever  the  bear  happens  to  be 
unable  to  find  room  for.  But  I — "  Norman's  eyes 
danced  and  his  strong  mouth  curved  in  a  charming  smile 
— "  I  am  a  honey  bird  with  a  bear  appetite." 

Galloway  was  sitting  up  stiffly.  "  I  don't  quite  fol 
low  you,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Yet  I  am  plain  enough.  My  ability  at  clear  state 
ment  has  not  deserted  me.  If  I  show  you  the  way 
through  the  tangled  forest  of  the  law  to  this  hive  you 
scent — I  must  be  a  partner  in  the  honey." 

Galloway  rose.  "  Your  conceptions  of  your  profes 
sion — and  of  me,  I  may  say — are  not  attractive.  I 
have  always  been,  and  am  willing  and  anxious  to  pay 
liberally — more  liberally  than  anyone  else — for  legal 
advice.  But  my  business,  sir,  is  my  own." 

Norman  rose,  his  expression  one  of  apology  and 
polite  disappointment.  "  I  see  I  misunderstood  your 
purpose  in  coming  to  me,"  said  he.  "  Let  us  take  no 
more  of  each  other's  time." 

"  And  what  did  you  think  my  obj  ect  was  in  com 
ing?  "  demanded  Galloway. 

"  To  get  from  me  what  you  realized  you  could  get 
nowhere  else — which  meant,  as  an  old  experienced  trader 

374 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


like  you  must  have  known,  that  you  were  ready  to  pay 
my  price.  Of  course,  if  you  can  get  elsewhere  the  as 
sistance  you  need,  why,  you  would  be  most  unwise  to 
come  to  me." 

Galloway  moved  toward  the  door.  "  And  you 
might  have  charged  practically  any  fee  you  wished," 
said  he,  laughing  satirically.  "  Young  man,  you  are 
making  the  mistake  that  is  ruining  this  generation. 
You  wish  to  get  rich  all  at  once.  You  are  not  willing  to 
be  patient  and  to  work  and  to  build  your  fortune  solidly 
and  slowly." 

Norman  smiled  as  at  a  good  joke.  "  What  an  asset 
to  you  strong  men  has  been  the  vague  hope  in  the  minds 
of  the  masses  that  each  poor  devil  of  them  will  have  his 
turn  to  loot  and  grow  rich.  I  used  to  think  ignorance 
kept  the  present  system  going.  But  I  have  discovered 
that  it  is  that  sly,  silly,  corrupt  hope.  But,  sir,  it  does 
not  catch  me,  I  shall  not  work  for  you  and  the  other 
strong  men,  and  patiently  wait  my  turn  that  would 
never  come.  My  time  is  now." 

"  You  threaten  me !  "  cried  Galloway  furiously. 

"  Threaten  you?  "  exclaimed  Norman,  amazed. 

"  You  think,  because  I  have  given  you,  my  lawyer, 
my  secrets,  that  you  can  compel  me " 

With  an  imperious  gesture  Norman  stopped  him. 
"  Good  day,  sir,"  he  said  haughtily.  "  Your  secrets  are 
safe  with  me.  I  am  a  lawyer,  not  a  financier." 

Galloway  was  disconcerted.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
375 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Mr.  Norman,"  he  said.  "  I  misunderstood  you.  I 
thought  I  heard  you  say  in  effect  that  you  purposed  to 
be  rich,  and  that  you  purposed  to  compel  me  to  make 
you  so." 

"  So  I  did,"  replied  Norman.  "  But  not  by  the 
methods  you  financiers  are  so  adept  at  using.  Not  by 
high-class  blackmail  and  blackjacking.  I  meant  that 
my  abilities  were  such  that  you  and  your  fellow  masters 
of  modern  society  would  be  compelled  to  employ  me  on 
my  own  terms.  A  few  moments  ago  you  outlined  to  me 
a  plan.  It  may  be  you  can  find  other  lawyers  competent 
to  steer  it  through  the  channel  of  the  law.  I  doubt  it. 
I  may  exaggerate  my  value.  But — "  He  smiled 
pleasantly — "  I  don't  think  so." 

In  this  modern  world  of  ours  there  is  no  more  delicate 
or  more  important  branch  of  the  art  of  material  success 
than  learning  to  play  one's  own  tune  on  the  trumpets  of 
fame.  To  those  who  watch  careers  intelligently  and 
critically,  and  not  merely  with  mouth  agape  and  ears 
awag  for  whatever  sounds  the  winds  of  credulity  bear, 
there  is  keen  interest  in  noting  how  differently  this  high 
art  is  practiced  by  the  fame-seekers — how  well  some 
modest  heroes  disguise  themselves  before  essaying  the 
trumpet,  how  timidly  some  play,  how  brazenly  others. 
It  is  an  art  of  infinite  variety.  How  many  there  are 
who  can  echo  Shakespeare's  sad  lament,  through  Ham 
let's  lips — "  I  lack  advancement !  "  Those  are  they 
who  have  wholly  neglected,  as  did  Shakespeare,  this 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


essential  part  of  the  art  of  advancement — Shakespeare, 
who  lived  almost  obscure  and  was  all  but  forgotten  for 
two  centuries  after  his  death. 

Norman,  frankly  seeking  mere  material  success,  and 
with  the  colossal  egotism  that  disdains  egotism  and 
shrugs  at  the  danger  of  being  accused  of  it — Norman 
did  not  hesitate  to  proclaim  his  own  merits.  He  rea 
soned  that  he  had  the  wares,  that  crying  them  would 
attract  attention  to  them,  that  he  whose  attention  was 
attracted,  if  he  were  a  judge  of  wares  and  a  seeker  of 
the  best,  would  see  that  the  Norman  wares  were  indeed 
as  Norman  cried  them.  At  first  blush  Galloway  was 
amused  by  Norman's  candid  self-esteem.  But  he  had 
often  heard  of  Norman's  conceit — and  in  a  long  and 
busy  life  he  had  not  seen  an  able  man  who  was  unaware 
of  his  ability ;  any  more  than  he  had  seen  a  pretty 
woman  unaware  of  her  prettiness.  So,  at  second  blush, 
Galloway  was  tempted  by  Norman's  calm  strong  blast 
upon  his  own  trumpet  to  look  again  at  the  wares. 

"  I  always  have  had  a  high  opinion  of  you,  young 
man,"  said  he,  with  laughing  eyes.  "  Almost  as  high  an 
opinion  as  you  have  of  yourself.  Think  over  the  legal 
side  of  my  plan.  When  you  get  your  thoughts  in  order, 
let  me  know — and  make  me  a  proposition  as  to  your  own 
share.  Does  that  satisfy  you?" 

"  It's  all  I  ask,"  said  Norman. 

And  they  parted  on  the  friendliest  terms — and  Nor 
man  knew  that  his  fortune  was  assured,  if  Galloway 

377 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


lived  another  nine  months.  When  he  was  alone,  the 
sweat  burst  out  upon  him  and,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  he  locked  his  door  and  flung  himself  at  full  length 
upon  the  rug.  It  was  half  an  hour  before  the  fit  of 
silent  hysterical  reaction  passed  sufficiently  to  let  him 
gather  strength  to  rise.  He  tottered  to  his  desk  chair, 
and  sat  with  his  head  buried  in  his  arms  upon  the  desk. 
After  a  while  the  telephone  at  his  side  rang  insistently. 
He  took  the  receiver  in  a  hand  he  could  not  steady. 

"Yes?  "he  called. 

"  It's  Tetlow.     How'd  you  come  out?  " 

"  Oh — "  He  paused  to  stiffen  his  throat  to  attack 
the  words  naturally — "  all  right.  We  go  ahead." 

"WithG.?" 

"  Certainly.  But  keep  quiet.  Don't  let  him  know 
you've  heard,  if  you  see  him  or  he  sends  for  you.  Re 
member,  it's  in  my  hands  entirely." 

"  Trust  me."  Tetlow's  voice,  suppressed  and  jubi 
lant,  suggested  a  fat,  hoarse  rooster  trying  to  finish  a 
crow  before  a  coming  stone  from  a  farm  boy  reaches 
him.  "  It  seems  natural  and  easy  to  you,  old  man. 
But  I'm  about  crazy  with  joy.  I'll  come  right  over." 

"  No.     I'm  going  home." 

"Can't  I  see  you  there?" 

"  No.  I've  other  matters  to  attend  to.  Come 
about  lunch  time  to-morrow — to  the  office,  here." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tetlow  disappointedly,  and  Nor 
man  rang  off. 

378 


XX 


IN  the  faces  of  men  who  have  dominion  of  whatever 
kind  over  their  fellow  men — be  it  the  brutal  rule  of  the 
prize  fighter  over  his  gang  or  the  apparently  gentle 
sway  of  the  apparently  meek  bishop  over  his  loving 
flock — in  the  faces  of  all  men  of  power  there  is  a 
dangerous  look.  They  may  never  lose  their  tempers. 
They  may  never  lift  their  voices.  They  may  be  ever 
suave  and  civil.  The  dangerous  look  is  there — and  the 
danger  behind  it.  And  the  sense  of  that  look  and  of 
its  cause  has  a  certain  restraining  effect  upon  all  but 
the  hopelessly  impudent  or  solidly  dense.  Norman  was 
one  of  the  men  without  fits  of  temper.  In  his  moments 
of  irritation,  no  one  ever  felt  that  a  storm  of  violent 
language  might  be  impending.  But  the  danger  signal 
flaunted  from  his  face.  Danger  of  what  ?  No  one  could 
have  said.  Most  people  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea 
that  so  even  tempered  a  man,  pleased  with  himself  and 
with  the  world,  could  ever  be  dangerous.  Yet  every 
one  had  instinctively  respected  that  danger  flag — until 
Dorothy. 

Perhaps  it  had  struck  for  her — had  really  not  been 
there  when  she  looked  at  him.  Perhaps  she  had  been 
13  379 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


too  inexperienced,  perhaps  too  self-centered,  to  see  it. 
Perhaps  she  had  never  before  seen  his  face  in  an  hour 
of  weariness  and  relaxation — when  the  true  character, 
the  dominating  and  essential  trait  or  traits,  shows  nak 
edly  upon  the  surface,  making  the  weak  man  or  woman 
look  pitiful,  the  strong  man  or  woman  formidable. 

However  that  may  be,  when  he  walked  into  the  sit 
ting  room,  greeted  her  placidly  and  kissed  her  on  the 
brow,  she,  glancing  uncertainly  up  at  him,  saw  that 
danger  signal  for  the  first  time.  She  studied  his  face, 
her  own  face  wearing  her  expression  of  the  puzzled 
child.  No,  not  quite  that  expression  as  it  always  had 
been  theretofore,  but  a  modified  form  of  it.  To  any 
self-centered,  self-absorbed  woman — there  comes  in  her 
married  life,  unless  she  be  married  to  a  booby,  a  time, 
an  hour,  a  moment  even — for  it  can  be  narrowed  down 
to  a  point — when  she  takes  her  first  seemg  look  at  the 
man  upon  whom  she  is  dependent  for  protection, whether 
spiritual  or  material,  or  both.  In  her  egotism  and 
vanity  she  has  been  regarding  him  as  her  property. 
Suddenly,  and  usually  disagreeably,  it  has  been  revealed 
to  her  that  she  is  his  property.  That  hour  had  come 
for  Dorothy  Norman.  And  she  was  looking  at  her  hus 
band,  was  wondering  who  and  what  he  was. 

"  You've  had  your  lunch  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  replied  she. 

"  You  have  been  out  for  the  air  ?  " 

"  No." 

380 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"Why  not?" 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  what  to  do." 

He  smiled  good  humoredly.  "  Oh,  you  had  no 
money." 

«  Yes— a  little.    But  I—"    She  halted. 

"Yes?" 

"  You  hadn't  told  me  what  to  do,"  she  repeated,  as 
if  on  mature  thought  that  sentence  expressed  the  whole 
matter. 

He  felt  in  his  pockets,  found  a  small  roll  of  bills. 
He  laid  twenty-five  dollars  on  the  table.  "  I'll  keep 
thirty,"  he  said,  "  as  I  shan't  have  any  more  till  I  see 
Tetlow  to-morrow.  Now,  fly  out  and  amuse  yourself. 
I'm  going  to  sleep.  Don't  wake  me  till  you're  ready 
for  dinner." 

And  he  went  into  his  bedroom  and  closed  the  door. 
When  he  awoke,  he  saw  that  it  was  dark  outside,  and 
some  note  in  the  din  of  street  noises  from  far  below 
made  him  feel  that  it  was  late.  He  wrapped  a  bath 
robe  round  him,  opened  the  door  into  the  sitting  room. 
It  was  dark. 

"  Dorothy !  "  he  called. 

"  Yes,"  promptly  responded  the  small  quiet  voice, 
so  near  that  he  started  back. 

"  Oh ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  switched  on  the  light. 
"  There  you  are — by  the  window.  What  were  you  do 
ing,  in  the  dark?  " 

She  was  dressed  precisely  as  when  he  had  last  seen 
381 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


her.  She  was  sitting  with  her  hands  listless  in  her  lap 
and  her  face  a  moving  and  beautiful  expression  of 
melancholy  dreams.  On  the  table  were  the  bills — where 
he  had  laid  them.  "  You've  been  out?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  replied. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I've  been — waiting." 

"  For  what?  "  laughed  he. 

"  For — I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  Just  wait 
ing." 

"  But  there's  nothing  to  wait  for." 

She  looked  at  him  interrogatively.  "  No — I  sup 
pose  not,"  she  said. 

He  went  back  into  his  room  and  glanced  at  his  watch. 
"  Eleven  o'clock !  "  he  cried.  "  Why  didn't  you  wake 
me?  You  must  be  nearly  starved." 

"  Yes,  I  am  hungry,"  said  she. 

Her  patient,  passive  resignation  irritated  him.  "  I'm 
ravenous,"  he  said.  "  I'll  dress — and  you  dress,  too. 
We'll  go  downstairs  to  supper." 

When  he  reappeared  in  the  sitting  room,  in  a  dinner 
jacket,  she  was  again  seated  near  the  window,  hands 
listless  in  her  lap  and  eyes  gazing  dreamily  into  vacancy. 
But  she  was  now  dressed  in  the  black  chiffon  and  the 
big  black  hat.  He  laughed.  "  You  are  prompt  and 
obedient,"  said  he.  "  Nothing  like  hunger  to  subdue." 

A  faint  flush  tinged  her  lovely  skin ;  the  look  of  the 
child  that  has  been  struck  appeared  in  her  eyes. 

382 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


He  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  the  explanation.  Did 
she  think  he  meant  it  was  need  that  had  brought  her 
meekly  back  to  him?  That  was  true  enough,  but  he 
had  not  intended  to  hint  it.  In  high  good  humor  be 
cause  he  was  so  delightfully  hungry  and  was  about 
to  get  food,  he  cried :  "  Do  cheer  up !  There's  nothing 
to  be  sad  about — nothing." 

She  lifted  her  large  eyes  and  gazed  at  him  timidly. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Take  you  downstairs  and  feed  you." 

"  But  I  mean— afterward?  " 

"  Bring — or  send — you  up  here  to  go  to  bed." 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  " 

"Where?" 

"  Away  from  me." 

He  looked  at  her  with  amused  eyes.  She  was  ex 
quisitely  lovely ;  never  had  he  seen  her  lovelier.  It 
delighted  him  to  note  her  charms — the  charms  that  had 
enslaved  him — not  a  single  charm  missing — and  to  feel 
that  he  was  no  longer  their  slave,  was  his  own  master 
again. 

A  strange  look  swept  across  her  uncannily  mobile 
face — a  look  of  wonder,  of  awe,  of  fear,  of  dread. 
"  You  don't  even  like  me  any  more,"  she  said  in  her 
colorless  way. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  make  you  think  I  dislike 
you  ?  "  said  he  pleasantly. 

She  gazed  down  in  silence. 
383 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You  need  have  no  fear,"  said  he.  "  You  are  my 
wife.  You  will  be  well  taken  care  of,  and  you  will  not 
be  annoyed.  What  more  can  I  say  ?  " 

66  Thank  you,"  she  murmured. 

He  winced.  She  had  made  him  .feel  like  an  unpleas 
ant  cross  between  an  alms-giver  and  a  bully.  "  Now," 
said  he,  with  forced  but  resolute  cheerfulness,  "  we  will 
eat,  drink  and  be  merry." 

On  the  way  down  in  the  elevator  he  watched  her 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  When  they  reached  the 
hall  leading  to  the  supper  room  he  touched  her  arm 
and  halted  her.  "  My  dear,"  said  he  in  the  pleasant 
voice  which  yet  somehow  never  failed  to  secure  atten 
tion  and  obedience,  "  there  will  be  some  of  my  acquaint 
ances  in  there  at  supper.  I  don't  want  them  to  see  you 
with  that  whipped  dog  look.  There's  no  occasion  for  it." 

Her  lip  trembled.     "  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  she. 

"  Let's  see  you  smile,"  laughed  he.  "  You  have 
often  shown  me  that  you  know  the  woman's  trick  of 
wearing  what  feelings  you  choose  on  the  outside.  So 
don't  pretend  that  you've  got  to  look  as  if  you  were 
about  to  be  hung  for  a  crime  you  didn't  commit. 
There !— that's  better." 

And  indeed  to  a  casual  glance  she  looked  the  happy 
bride  trying — not  very  successfully — to  seem  used  to 
her  husband  and  her  new  status. 

"  Hold  it ! "  he  urged  gayly.  "  I've  no  fancy  for 
leading  round  a  lovely  martyr  in  chains.  Especially  as 

384 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


you're  about  as  healthy  and  well  placed  a  person  as  I 
know.  And  you'll  feel  as  well  as  you  look  when  you've 
had  something  to  eat." 

Whether  it  was  obedience  or  the  result  of  a  decision 
to  drop  an  unprofitable  pose  he  could  not  tell,  but  as 
soon  as  they  were  seated  and  she  had  a  bill  of  fare  before 
her  and  was  reading  it,  her  expression  of  happiness  lost 
its  last  suggestion  of  being  forced.  "  Crab  meat !  "  she 
said.  "I  love  it!" 

"  Two  portions  of  crab  meat,"  he  said  to  the  waiter 
with  pad  and  pencil  at  attention. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  that  much,"  she  protested. 

"  You  forget  that  7  am  hungry,"  rejoined  he. 
"  And  when  I  am  hungry,  the  price  of  food  begins  to 
go  up."  He  addressed  himself  to  the  waiter:  "After 
that  a  broiled  grouse — with  plenty  of  hominy — and 
grilled  sweet  potatoes — and  a  salad  of  endive  and  hot 
house  tomatoes — and  I  know  the  difference  between  hot 
house  tomatoes  and  the  other  kinds.  Next — some 
cheese — Coullomieres — yes,  you  have  it — I  got  the 
steward  to  get  it — and  toasted  crackers — the  round 
kind,  not  the  square — and  not  the  hard  ones  that  un 
settle  the  teeth — and — what  kind  of  ice,  my  dear? — or 
would  you  prefer  a  fresh  peach  flambee?  " 

"  Yes— I  think  so,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  You  hear,  waiter  ? — and  a  bottle  of — there's  the 
head  waiter — ask  him — he  knows  the  champagne  I 
like." 

385 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


As  Norman  had  talked,  in  the  pleasant,  insistent 
voice,  the  waiter  had  roused  from  the  air  of  mindless, 
mechanical  sloth  characteristic  of  the  New  York 
waiter — unless  and  until  a  fee  below  his  high  expecta 
tion  is  offered.  When  he  said  the  final  "  very  good, 
sir,"  it  was  with  the  accent  of  real  intelligence. 

Dorothy  was  smiling,  with  the  amusement  of  youth 
and  inexperience.  "  What  a  lot  of  trouble  you  took 
about  it,"  said  she. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Anything  worth  do 
ing  at  all  is  worth  taking  trouble  about.  You  will  see. 
We  shall  get  results.  The  supper  will  be  the  best  this 
house  can  put  together." 

"  You  can  have  anything  you  want  in  this  world, 
if  you  only  can  pay  for  it,"  said  she. 

"  That's  what  most  people  think,"  replied  he. 
"  But  the  truth  is,  the  paying  is  only  a  small  part  of 
the  art  of  getting  what  one  wants." 

She  glanced  nervously  at  him.  "  I'm  beginning  to 
realize  that  I'm  dreadfully  inexperienced,"  said  she. 

"  There's  nothing  discouraging  in  that,"  said  he. 
"  Lack  of  experience  can  be  remedied.  But  not  lack 
of  judgment.  It  takes  the  great  gift  of  judgment  to 
enable  one  to  profit  by  mistakes,  to  decide  what  is  the 
real  lesson  of  an  experience." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  any  judgment,  either,"  con 
fessed  she. 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen." 
386 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


She  hesitated — ventured :  "  What  do  you  think  is 
my  worst  fault?  " 

He  shook  his  head  laughingly.  "  We  are  going  to 
have  a  happy  supper." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  very  vain?  "  persisted  she. 

"  Who's  been  telling  you  so  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Tetlow.  He  gave  me  an  awful  talking  to, 
just  before  I — "  She  paused  at  the  edge  of  the  for 
bidden  ground.  "  He  didn't  spare  me,"  she  went  on. 
"  He  said  I  was  a  vain,  self-centered  little  fool." 

"And  what  did  you  say?  " 

"  I  was  very  angry.  I  told  him  he  had  no  right 
to  accuse  me  of  that.  I  reminded  him  that  he  had  never 
heard  me  say  a  word  about  myself." 

"  And  did  he  say  that  the  vainest  people  were  just 
that  way — never  speaking  of  themselves,  never  thinking 
of  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  told  you  what  he  said,"  cried  she. 

"  No,"  laughed  he. 

She  reddened.     "  You  think  I'm  vain?  " 

He  made  a  good-humoredly  satirical  little  bow.  "  I 
think  you  are  charming,"  said  he.  "  It  would  be  a 
waste  of  time  to  look  at  or  to  think  of  anyone  else  when 
oneself  is  the  most  charming  and  interesting  person  in 
the  world.  Still — "  He  put  into  his  face  and  voice  a 
suggestion  of  gravity  that  caught  her  utmost  atten 
tion — "  if  one  is  to  get  anywhere,  is  to  win  considera 
tion  from  others — and  happiness  for  oneself — one  sira- 

887 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ply  must  do  a  little  thinking  about  others — occasion 
ally." 

Her  eyes  lowered.     A  faint  color  tinged  her  cheeks. 

"  The  reason  most  of  us  are  so  uncomfortable — 
downright  unhappy  most  of  the  time — is  that  we  never 
really  take  our  thoughts  off  our  precious  fascinating 
selves.  The  result  is  that  some  day  we  find  that  the 
liking — and  friendship — and  love — of  those  around  us 
has  limits — and  we  are  left  severely  alone.  Of  course, 
if  one  has  a  great  deal  of  money,  one  can  buy  excellent 
imitations  of  liking  and  friendship  and  even  love — I 
ought  to  say,  especially  love " 

The  color  flamed  in  her  face. 

"  But,"  he  went  on,  "  if  one  is  in  modest  circum 
stances  or  poor,  one  has  to  take  care." 

"  Or  dependent,"  she  said,  with  one  of  those  unex 
pected  flashes  of  subtle  intelligence  that  so  complicated 
the  study  of  her  character.  He  had  been  talking  to 
amuse  himself  rather  than  with  any  idea  of  her  un 
derstanding.  Her  sudden  bright  color  and  her  two 
words — "  or  dependent " — roused  him  to  see  that  she 
thought  he  was  deliberately  giving  her  a  savage  lec 
ture  from  the  cover  of  general  remarks.  "  With  the 
vanity  of  the  typical  woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  she 
always  imagines  she  is  the  subject  of  everyone's  thought 
and  talk." 

"  Or  dependent,"  said  he  to  her,  easily.  "  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  you,  but  yours  is  a  case  in  point.  Come, 

388 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


now — nothing  to  look  blue  about!  Here's  something 
to  eat.  No,  it's  for  the  next  table." 

"  You  won't  let  me  explain,"  she  protested,  between 
the  prudence  of  reproach  and  the  candor  of  anger. 

"  There's  nothing  to  explain,"  replied  he.  "  Don't 
bother  about  the  mistakes  of  yesterday.  Remember 
them — yes.  If  one  has  a  good  memory,  to  forget  is 
impossible — not  to  say  unwise.  But  there  ought  to 
be  no  more  heat  or  sting  in  the  memory  of  past  mis 
takes  than  in  the  memory  of  last  year's  mosquito  bites." 

The  first  course  of  the  supper  arrived.  Her  nerv 
ousness  vanished,  and  he  got  far  away  from  the  neigh 
borhood  of  the  subjects  that,  even  in  remotest  hint, 
could  not  but  agitate  her.  And  as  the  food  and  the 
wine  asserted  their  pacific  and  beatific  sway,  she  and 
he  steadily  moved  into  better  and  better  humor  with 
each  other.  Her  beauty  grew  until  it  had  him  thinking 
that  never,  not  in  the  most  spiritual  feminine  concep 
tions  of  the  classic  painters,  had  he  seen  a  loveliness 
more  ethereal.  Her  skin  was  so  exquisite,  the  coloring 
of  her  hair  and  eyes  and  of  her  lips  was  so  delicately 
fine  that  it  gave  her  the  fragility  of  things  bordering 
upon  the  supernal — of  rare  exotics,  of  sunset  and 
moonbeam  effects.  No,  he  had  been  under  no  spell  of 
illusion  as  to  her  beauty.  It  was  a  reality — the  more 
fascinating  because  it  waxed  and  waned  not  with  regu 
larity  of  period  but  capriciously. 

He  began  to  look  round  furtively,  to  see  what  effect 
389 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


this  wife  of  his  was  producing  on  others.  These  last 
few  months,  through  prudence  as  much  as  through 
pride,  he  had  been  cultivating  the  habit  of  ignoring  his 
surroundings;  he  would  not  invite  cold  salutations  or 
obvious  avoidance  of  speaking.  He  now  discovered 
many  of  his  former  associates — and  his  vanity  dilated 
as  he  noted  how  intensely  they  were  interested  in  his 
wife. 

Some  men  of  ability  have  that  purest  form  of  ego 
tism  which  makes  one  profoundly  content  with  himself, 
genuinely  indifferent  to  the  approval  or  the  disapprov 
al  of  others.  Norman's  vanity  had  a  certain  amount 
of  alloy.  He  genuinely  disdained  his  fellow-men — their 
timidity,  their  hypocrisy,  their  servility,  their  limited 
range  of  ideas.  He  was  indifferent  to  the  verge  of  in 
sensibility  as  to  their  adverse  criticism.  But  at  the 
same  time  it  was  necessary  to  his  happiness  that  he  get 
from  them  evidences  of  their  admiration  and  envy. 
With  that  amusing  hypocrisy  which  tinges  all  human 
nature,  he  concealed  from  himself  the  satisfaction,  the 
joy  even,  he  got  out  of  the  showy  side  of  his  position. 
And  no  feature  of  his  infatuation  for  Dorothy  sur 
prised  him  so  much  as  the  Way  it  rode  rough  shod  and 
reckless  over  his  snobbishness. 

With  the  fading  of  infatuation  had  come  many 
reflections  upon  the  practical  aspects  of  what  he  had 
done.  It  pleased  him  with  himself  to  find  that,  in  this 
first  test,  he  had  not  the  least  regret,  but  on  the  con- 

390 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


trary  a  genuine  pride  in  the  courageous  independence 
he  had  shown — another  and  strong  support  to  his  con 
viction  of  his  superiority  to  his  fellow-men.  He  might 
be  somewhat  snobbish — who  was  not? — who  else  in  his 
New  York  was  less  than  supersaturated  with  snobbish 
ness?  But  snobbishness,  the  determining  quality  in  the 
natures  of  all  the  women  and  most  of  the  men  he  knew, 
had  shown  itself  one  of  the  incidental  qualities  in  his 
own  nature.  After  all,  reflected  he,  it  took  a  man,  a 
good  deal  of  a  man,  to  do  what  he  had  done,  and  not 
to  regret  it,  even  in  the  hour  of  disillusionment.  And 
it  must  be  said  for  this  egotistic  self-approval  of  his 
that  like  all  his  judgments  there  was  sound  merit  of 
truth  in  it.  The  vanity  of  the  nincompoop  is  ridiculous. 
The  vanity  of  the  man  of  ability  is  amusing  and  no 
doubt  due  to  a  defective  point  of  view  upon  the  propor 
tions  of  the  universe;  but  it  is  not  without  excuse,  and 
those  who  laugh  might  do  well  to  discriminate  even  as 
they  guffaw. 

Looking  discreetly  about,  Norman  was  suddenly 
confronted  by  the  face  of  Josephine  Burroughs,  only 
two  tables  away. 

Until  their  eyes  squarely  met  he  did  not  know  she 
was  there,  or  even  in  America.  Before  he  could  make  a 
beginning  of  glancing  away,  she  gave  him  her  sweetest 
smile  and  her  friendliest  bow.  And  Dorothy,  looking 
to  see  to  whom  he  was  speaking,  was  astonished  to  re 
ceive  the  same  radiance  of  cordiality.  Norman  was 

391 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


pleased  at  the  way  his  wife  dealt  with  the  situation. 
She  returned  both  bow  and  smile  in  her  own  quiet, 
slightly  reserved  way  of  gentle  dignity. 

"Who  was  that,  speaking?"  asked  she. 

"  Miss  Burroughs.     You  must  remember  her." 

He  noted  it  as  characteristic  that  she  said,  quite 
sincerely :  "  Oh,  so  it  is.  I  didn't  remember  her.  That 
is  the  girl  you  were  engaged  to." 

"  Yes — '  the  nice  girl  uptown,'  "  said  he. 

"I  didn't  like  her,"  said  Dorothy,  with  evident 
small  interest  in  the  subject.  "  She  was  vain." 

"  You  mean  you  didn't  like  her  way  of  being  vain," 
suggested  Norman.  "  Everyone  is  vain ;  so,  if  we  dis 
liked  for  vanity  we  should  dislike  everyone." 

"  Yes,  it  was  her  way.  And  just  now  she  spoke  to 
us  both,  as  if  she  were  doing  us  a  favor." 

"  Gracious,  it's  called,"  said  he.  "  What  of  it?  It 
does  us  no  harm  and  gives  her  about  the  only  happiness 
she's  got." 

Norman,  without  seeming  to  do  so,  noted  the  rest 
of  the  Burroughs  party.  At  Josephine's  right  sat  a 
handsome  young  foreigner,  and  it  took  small  experience 
of  the  world  to  discover  that  he  was  paying  court  to 
her,  and  that  she  was  pleased  and  flattered.  Norman 
asked  the  waiter  who  he  was,  and  learned  that  he  came 
from  the  waiter's  own  province  of  France,  was  the  Due 
de  Valdome.  At  first  glance  Norman  had  thought  him 
distinguished.  Afterward  he  discriminated.  There  are 

392 


e< At  Josephine's  right  sat  a  handsome  young  foreigner." 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


several  kinds  or  degrees  of  distinction.  There  is  dis 
tinction  of  race,  of  class,  of  family,  of  dress,  of  person. 
As  Frenchman,  as  aristocrat,  as  a  scion  of  the  ancient 
family  of  Valdome,  as  a  specimen  of  tailoring  and  valet 
ing,  Miss  Burroughs's  young  man  was  distinguished. 
But  in  his  own  proper  person  he  was  rather  insignificant. 
The  others  at  the  table  were  Americans.  Following  Miss 
Burroughs's  cue,  they  sought  an  opportunity  to  speak 
friendlily  to  Norman — and  he  gave  it  them.  His  ac 
knowledgment  of  those  effusive  salutations  was  polite 
but  restrained. 

"  They  are  friends  of  yours  ?  "  said  Dorothy. 

"  They  were,"  said  he.  "  And  they  may  be  again — 
when  they  are  friends  of  ours." 

"  I'm  not  very  good  at  making  friends,"  she  warned 
him.  "  I  don't  like  many  people."  This  time  her  un 
conscious  and  profound  egotism  pleased  him.  Evi 
dently  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  she  should  be  eager 
to  be  friends  with  those  people  on  any  terms,  that  the 
only  question  was  whether  they  would  receive  her. 

She  asked :  "  Why  was  Miss — Miss  Burroughs  so 
friendly?" 

"Why  shouldn't  she  be?" 

"  But  I  thought  you  threw  her  over." 

He  winced  at  this  crude  way  of  putting  it.  "  On 
the  contrary,  she  threw  me  over." 

Dorothy  laughed  incredulously.  "  I  know  better. 
Mr.  Tetlow  told  me." 

393 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  She  threw  me  over,"  repeated  he  coldly.  "  Tetlow 
was  repeating  malicious  and  ignorant  gossip." 

Dorothy  laughed  again — it  was  her  second  glass  of 
champagne.  "  You  say  that  because  it's  the  honorable 
thing  to  say.  But  I  know." 

"  I  say  it  because  it's  true,"  said  he. 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  if  she  had  drunk  many  more 
than  two  glasses  of  an  unaccustomed  and  heady  liquor 
she  would  have  felt  his  intonation.  She  paled  and 
shrank  and  her  slim  white  fingers  fluttered  nervously 
at  the  collar  of  her  dress.  "  I  was  only  joking,"  she 
murmured. 

He  laughed  good-naturedly.  "  Don't  look  as  if  I 
had  given  you  a  whipping,"  said  he.  "  Surely  you're 
not  afraid  of  me." 

She  glanced  shyly  at  him,  a  smile  dancing  in  her 
eyes  and  upon  her  lips.  "  Yes,"  she  said.  And  after  a 
pause  she  added :  "  I  didn't  used  to  be.  But  that  was 
because  I  didn't  know  you — or  much  of  anything." 
The  smile  irradiated  her  whole  face.  "  You  used  to  be 
afraid  of  me.  But  you  aren't,  any  more." 

"  No,"  said  he,  looking  straight  at  her.  "  No,  I'm 
not." 

"  I  always  told  you  you  were  mistaken  in  what  you 
thought  of  me.  I  really  don't  amount  to  much.  A  man 
as  serious  and  as  important  as  you  are  couldn't — • 
couldn't  care  about  me." 

"  It's  true  you  don't  amount  to  much,  as  yet,"  said 
394 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


he.  "  And  if  you  never  do  amount  to  much,  you'd  be  no 
less  than  most  women  and  most  men.  But  I've  an  idea 
— at  times — that  you  could  amount  to  something." 

He  saw  that  he  had  wounded  her  vanity,  that  her 
protestations  of  humility  were  precisely  what  he  had 
suspected.  He  laughed  at  her :  "  I  see  you  thought  I'd 
contradict  you.  But  I  can't  afford  to  be  so  amiable 
now.  And  the  first  thing  you've  got  to  get  rid  of  is 
the  part  of  your  vanity  that  prevents  you  from  grow 
ing.  Vanity  of  belief  in  one's  possibilities  is  fine.  No 
one  gets  anywhere  without  it.  But  vanity  of  belief  in 
one's  present  perfection — no  one  but  a  god  could  afford 
that  luxury." 

Observing  her  closely  he  was  amused — and  pleased 
— to  note  that  she  was  struggling  to  compose  herself  to 
endure  his  candors  as  a  necessary  part  of  the  duties  and 
obligations  she  had  taken  on  herself  when  she  gave  up 
and  returned  to  him. 

"  What  you  thought  of  me  used  to  be  the  important 
thing  in  our  relations,"  he  went  on,  in  his  way  of  raillery 
that  took  all  or  nearly  all  the  sting  out  of  what  he  said, 
but  none  of  its  strength.  "  Now,  the  important  thing 
is  what  I  think  of  you.  You  are  much  younger  than 
I,  especially  in  experience.  You  are  going  to  school  to 
life  with  me  as  teacher.  You'll  dislike  the  teacher  for 
the  severity  of  the  school.  That  isn't  just,  but  it's 
natural — perhaps  inevitable.  And  please — my  dear — 
when  you  are  bitterest  over  what  you  have  to  put  up 

395 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


with  from  me — don't  forget  what  7  have  to  put  up  with 
from  you." 

She  was  fighting  bravely  against  angry  tears.  As 
for  him,  he  had  suddenly  become  indifferent  to  what 
the  people  around  them  might  be  thinking.  With  all 
his  old  arrogance  come  back  in  full  flood,  he  was  feeling 
that  he  would  live  his  own  life  in  his  own  way  and  that 
those  who  didn't  approve — yes,  including  Dorothy — 
might  do  as  they  saw  fit.  She  said : 

"  I  don't  blame  you  for  regretting  that  you  didn't 
marry  Miss  Burroughs." 

"  But  I  don't  regret  it,"  replied  he.  "  On  the  con 
trary,  I'm  glad." 

She  glanced  hopefully  at  him.  But  the  hopeful  ex 
pression  faded  as  he  went  on: 

"  Whether  or  not  I  made  a  mistake  in  marrying  you, 
I  certainly  had  an  escape  from  disaster  when  she  de 
cided  she  preferred  a  foreigner  and  a  title.  There's  a 
good  sensible  reason  why  so  many  girls  of  her  class — 
more  and  more  all  the  time — marry  abroad.  They  are 
not  fit  to  be  the  wives  of  hard-working  American  hus 
bands.  In  fact  I've  about  reached  the  conclusion  that 
of  the  girls  growing  up  nowdays  very  few  in  any  class 
are  fit  to  be  American  wives.  They're  not  big  enough. 
They're  too  coarse  and  crude  in  their  tastes.  They're 
only  fit  for  the  shallow,  showy  sort  of  thing — and  the 
European  aristocracy  is  their  hope — and  their  place." 

Her  small  face  had  a  fascinating  expression  of  a 
396 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


child  trying  to  understand  things  far  beyond  its  depth. 
He  was  interested  in  his  own  thoughts,  however,  and 
went  on — for,  if  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  stopping 
when  his  hearers  failed  to  understand,  or  when  they 
misunderstood,  either  he  would  have  been  silent  most 
of  the  time  in  company  or  his  conversation  would  have 
been  as  petty  and  narrow  and  devoid  of  originality  or 
imagination  as  is  the  mentality  of  most  human  beings 
— as  is  the  talk  and  reading  that  impress  them  as  inter 
esting — and  profound! 

"  The  American  man  of  the  more  ambitious  sort," 
he  went  on,  "  either  has  to  live  practically  if  not  phys 
ically  apart  from  his  wife  or  else  has  to  educate  some 
not  too  difficult  woman  to  be  his  wife." 

She  understood  that.  "  You  are  really  going  to 
educate  me  ?  "  she  said,  with  an  arch  smile.  Now  that 
Norman  had  her  attention,  now  that  she  was  center 
ing  upon  him  instead  of  upon  herself,  she  was  inter 
ested  in  him,  and  in  what  he  said,  whether  she  under 
stood  it  or  not,  whether  it  pleased  her  vanity  or  wounded 
it.  The  intellects  of  women  work  to  an  unsuspected 
extent  only  through  the  sex  charm.  Their  apprecia 
tions  of  books,  of  art,  of  men  are  dependant,  often  in 
the  most  curious  indirect  ways,  upon  the  fact  that 
the  author,  the  artist,  the  politician  or  what  not  is 
betrousered.  Thus,  Dorothy  was  patient,  respectful, 
attentive,  was  not  offended  by  Norman's  didactic 
way  of  giving  her  the  lessons  in  life.  Her  smile  was 

397 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


happy  as  well  as  coquettish,  as  she  asked  him  to  edu 
cate  her. 

He  returned  her  smile.  "  That  depends,"  answered 
he. 

"  You're  not  sure  I'm  worth  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  You  may  put  it  that  way,  if  you  like.  But  I'd 
say,  rather,  I'm  not  sure  I  can  spare  the  time — and 
you're  not  sure  you  care  to  fit  yourself  for  the  place." 

"Oh,  but  I  do!"  cried  she. 

"  We'll  see — in  a  few  weeks  or  months,"  replied  he. 

The  Burroughs  party  were  rising.  Josephine  had 
choice  of  two  ways  to  the  door.  She  chose  the  one 
that  took  her  past  Norman  and  his  bride.  She  ad 
vanced,  beaming.  Norman  rose,  took  her  extended 
hand.  Said  she: 

"  So  glad  to  see  you."  Then,  turning  the  radiant 
smile  upon  Dorothy,  "And  is  this  your  wife?  Is  this 
the  pretty  little  typewriter  girl?  " 

Dorothy  nodded — a  charming,  ingenuous  bend  of 
the  head.  Norman  felt  a  thrill  of  pride  in  her,  so  beauti 
fully  unconscious  of  the  treacherous  attempt  at  insult. 
It  particularly  delighted  him  that  she  had  not  made 
the  mistake  of  rising  to  return  Josephine's  greeting  but 
had  remained  seated.  Surely  this  wife  of  his  had  the 
right  instincts  that  never  fail  to  cause  right  manners. 
For  Josephine's  benefit,  he  gazed  down  at  Dorothy  with 
the  proudest,  fondest  eyes.  "  Yes — this  is  she,"  said 
he.  "  Can  you  blame  me  ?  " 

398 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Josephine  paled  and  winced  visibly,  as  if  the  blow 
she  had  aimed  at  him  had,  after  glancing  off  harmlessly, 
returned  to  crush  her.  She  touched  Dorothy's  proffered 
hand,  murmured  a  few  stammering  phrases  of  vague 
compliment,  rejoined  her  friends.  Said  Dorothy,  when 
she  and  Norman  were  settled  again: 

"  I  shall  never  like  her.     Nor  she  me." 

"  But  you  do  like  this  cheese  ?  Waiter,  another 
bottle  of  that  same." 

"  Why  did  she  put  you  in  such  a  good  humor  ?  " 
inquired  his  wife. 

"  It  wasn't  she.  It  was  you !  "  replied  he.  But  he 
refused  to  explain. 


XXI 

GALLOWAY  accepted  Norman's  terms.  He  would 
probably  have  accepted  terms  far  less  easy.  But  Nor 
man  as  yet  knew  with  the  thoroughness  which  must 
precede  intelligent  plan  and  action  only  the  legal  side 
of  financial  operations;  he  had  been  as  indifferent  to 
the  commercial  side  as  a  pilot  to  the  value  of  the  cargo 
in  the  ship  he  engages  to  steer  clear  of  shoals  and  rocks. 
So  with  the  prudence  of  the  sagacious  man's  audacities 
he  contented  himself  with  a  share  of  this  first  venture 
that  would  simply  make  a  comfortable  foundation  for 
the  fortune  he  purposed  to  build.  As  the  venture  could 
not  fail  outright,  even  should  Galloway  die,  he  rented 
a  largish  place  at  Hempstead,  with  the  privilege  of 
purchase,  and  installed  his  wife  and  himself  with  a  dozen 
servants  and  a  housekeeper. 

"  This  housekeeper,  this  Mrs.  Lowell,"  said  he  to 
Dorothy,  "  is  a  good  enough  person  as  housekeepers 
go.  But  you  will  have  to  look  sharply  after  her." 

Dorothy  seemed  to  fade  and  shrink  within  herself, 
which  was  her  way  of  confessing  lack  of  courage  and 
fitness  to  face  a  situation :  "  I  don't  know  anything 
about  those  things,"  she  confessed. 

400 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  I  understand  perfectly,"  said  he.  "  But  you 
learned  something  at  the  place  in  Jersey  City — quite 
enough  for  the  start.  Really,  all  you  need  to  know 
just  now  is  whether  the  place  is  clean  or  not,  and 
whether  the  food  comes  on  the  table  in  proper  condition. 
The  rest  you'll  pick  up  gradually." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  she,  looking  doubtful  and  help 
less  ;  these  new  magnitudes  were  appalling,  especially 
now  that  she  was  beginning  to  get  a  point  of  view  upon 
life. 

"  At  any  rate,  don't  bother  me  for  these  few  next 
months,"  said  he.  "  I'm  going  to  be  very  busy — shall 
leave  early  in  the  morning  and  not  be  back  until  near 
dinner  time — if  I  come  at  all.  No,  you'll  not  be  an 
noyed  by  me.  You'll  be  absolute  mistress  of  your  time." 

She  tried  to  look  as  if  this  contented  her.  But  he 
could  not  have  failed  to  see  how  dissatisfied  and  dis 
quieted  she  really  was.  He  had  the  best  of  reasons  for 
thinking  that  she  was  living  under  the  same  roof  with 
him  only  because  she  preferred  the  roof  he  could  provide 
to  such  a  one  as  she  could  provide  for  herself  whether 
by  her  own  earnings  or  by  marrying  a  man  more  to  her 
liking  personally.  Yet  here  she  was,  piqued  and  de 
pressed  because  of  his  indifference — because  he  was  not 
thrusting  upon  her  gallantries  she  would  tolerate  only 
through  prudence ! 

"  You  will  be  lonely  at  times,  I'm  afraid,"  said  he. 
"  But  I  can't  provide  friends  or  even  acquaintances  for 

401 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


you  for  several  months — until  my  affairs  are  in  better 
order  and  my  sister  and  her  husband  come  back  from 
Europe." 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  be  lonely,"  cried  she.  "  I've  never 
cared  for  people." 

"  You've  your  books,  and  your  music — and  riding 
— and  shopping  trips  to  town — and  the  house  and 
grounds  to  look  after." 

"  Yes — and  my  dreams,"  said  she  hopefully,  her 
eyes  suggesting  the  dusky  star  depths. 

"  Oh — the  dreams.  You'll  have  little  time  for  them," 
said  he  drily.  "  And  little  inclination,  I  imagine,  as 
you  wake  up  to  the  sense  of  how  much  there  is  to  be 
learned.  Dreaming  is  the  pastime  of  people  who  haven't 
the  intelligence  or  the  energy  to  accomplish  anything. 
If  you  wish  to  please  me — and  you  do — don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured.  She  forced  her  rebellious 
lips  to  the  laconic  assent.  She  drooped  the  lids  over 
her  rebellious  eyes,  lest  he  should  detect  her  wounded 
feelings  and  her  resentment. 

"  I  assumed  so,"  said  he,  with  a  secret  smile. 
"  Well,  if  you  wish  to  please  me,  you'll  give  your  time 
to  practical  things — things  that'll  make  you  more  in 
teresting  and  make  us  both  more  comfortable.  It  was 
all  very  well  to  dream,  while  you  had  little  to  do  and 
small  opportunity.  But  now —  Try  to  cut  it  out." 

It  is  painful  to  an  American  girl  of  any  class  to 
find  that  she  has  to  earn  her  position  as  wife.  The 

402 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


current  theory,  a  tradition  from  an  early  and  woman- 
revering  day,  is  that  the  girl  has  done  her  share  and 
more  when  she  has  consented  to  the  suit  of  the  ardent 
male  and  has  intrusted  her  priceless  charms  to  his  ex 
clusive  keeping.  According  to  that  same  theory,  it  is 
the  husband  who  must  earn  his  position — must  continue 
to  earn  it.  He  is  a  humble  creature,  honored  by  the 
presence  of  a  wonderful  being,  a  cross  between  a  queen 
and  a  goddess.  He  cannot  do  enough  to  show  his 
gratitude.  Perhaps — but  only  perhaps — had  Norman 
married  Josephine  Burroughs,  he  might  have  assented, 
after  a  fashion,  to  this  idea  of  the  relations  of  the  man 
and  the  woman.  No  doubt,  had  he  remained  under  the 
spell  of  Dorothy's  mystery  and  beauty,  he  would  have 
felt  and  acted  the  slave  he  had  made  of  himself  at  the 
outset.  But  in  the  circumstances  he  was  looking  at 
their  prospective  life  together  with  sane  eyes.  And 
so  she  had,  in  addition  to  all  her  other  reasons  for 
heartache,  a  sense  that  she,  the  goddess-queen,  the 
American  woman,  with  the  birthright  of  dominion  over 
the  male,  was  being  cheated,  humbled,  degraded. 

At  first  he  saw  that  this  sense  of  being  wronged 
made  it  impossible  for  her  to  do  anything  at  all  toward 
educating  herself  for  her  position.  But  time  brought 
about  the  change  he  had  hoped  for.  A  few  weeks,  and 
she  began  to  cheer  up,  almost  in  spite  of  herself.  What 
was  the  use  in  sulking  or  sighing  or  in  self-pitying, 
when  it  brought  only  unhappiness  to  oneself?  The 

403 


THE   GRAIN   OF    DUST 


coarse  and  brutal  male  in  the  case  was  either  unaware 
or  indifferent.  There  was  no  one  and  no  place  to  fly 
to— unless  she  wished  to  be  much  worse  off  than  her 
darkest  mood  of  self-pity  represented  her  to  her  sor 
rowing  self.  The  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Lowell,  was  a 
"  broken  down  gentlewoman  "  who  had  been  chastened 
by  misfortune  into  a  wholesome  state  of  practical  good 
sense  about  the  relative  values  of  the  real  and  the 
romantic.  Mrs.  Lowell  diagnosed  the  case  of  the  young 
wife — as  Norman  had  shrewdly  guessed  she  would — 
and  was  soon  adroitly  showing  her  the  many  advantages 
of  her  lot.  Before  they  had  been  three  months  at 
Hempstead,  Dorothy  had  discovered  that  she,  in  fact, 
was  without  a  single  ground  for  serious  complaint.  She 
had  a  husband  who  was  generous  about  money,  and  left 
her  as  absolutely  alone  as  if  he  were  mere  occasional 
visitor  at  the  house.  She  had  her  living — and  such  a 
living ! — she  had  plenty  of  interesting  occupation — she 
had  not  a  single  sordid  care — and  perfect  health. 

The  dreams,  too —  It  was  curious  about  those 
dreams.  She  would  now  have  found  it  an  intolerable 
bore  to  sit  with  hands  idle  in  her  lap  and  eyes  upon  va 
cancy,  watching  the  dim,  luminous  shadows  flit  aimlessly 
by.  Yet  that  was  the  way  she  used  to  pass  hours — entire 
days.  She  used  to  fight  off  sleep  at  night  the  longer  to 
enjoy  her  one  source  of  pure  happiness.  There  was 
no  doubt  about  it,  the  fire  of  romance  was  burning  low, 
and  she  was  becoming  commonplace,  practical,  resigned. 

404 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Well,  why  not?  Was  not  life  over  for  her? — that  is, 
the  life  a  girl's  fancy  longs  for.  In  place  of  hope  of 
romance,  there  was  an  uneasy  feeling  of  a  necessity  of 
pleasing  this  husband  of  hers — of  making  him  comfort 
able.  What  would  befall  her  if  she  neglected  trying 
to  please  him  or  if  she,  for  all  her  trying,  failed?  She 
did  not  look  far  in  that  direction.  Her  uneasiness  re 
mained  indefinite — yet  definite  enough  to  keep  her 
working  from  waking  until  bedtime.  And  she  dropped 
into  the  habit  of  watching  his  face  with  the  same  anx 
iety  with  which  a  farmer  watches  the  weather.  When 
he  happened  one  day  to  make  a  careless,  absent-minded 
remark  in  disapproval  of  something  in  the  domestic  ar 
rangements,  she  was  thrown  into  such  a  nervous  flutter 
,that  he  observed  it. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  replied  she  in  the  hurried 
tone  of  one  who  is  trying  hastily  to  cover  his  thoughts. 

He  reflected,  understood,  burst  into  a  fit  of  hearty 
laughter.  "  So,  you  are  trying  to  make  a  bogey  of 
me?" 

She  colored,  protested  faintly. 

"  Don't  you  know  I'm  about  the  least  tyrannical, 
least  exacting  person  in  the  world?  " 

"  You've  been  very  patient  with  me,"  said  she. 

"  Now — now,"  cried  he  in  a  tone  of  raillery,  "  you 
might  as  well  drop  that.  Don't  you  know  there's  no 
reason  for  being  afraid  of  me?" 

405 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  replied  she.  "  But  I  feel  afraid, 
just  the  same.  I  can't  help  it." 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  appreciate  the  effect 
of  his  personality  upon  others — how,  without  his  trying 
or  even  wishing,  it  made  them  dread  a  purely  imaginary 
displeasure  and  its  absurdly  imaginary  consequences. 
But  this  confession  of  hers  was  not  the  first  time  he  had 
heard  of  the  effect  of  potential  and  latent  danger  he 
had  upon  those  associated  with  him.  And,  as  it  was 
most  useful,  he  was  not  sorry  that  he  had  it.  He  made 
no  further  attempt  to  convince  her  that  he  was  harm 
less.  He  knew  that  he  was  harmless  where  she  was  con 
cerned.  Was  it  not  just  as  well  that  she  should  not  know 
it,  when  vaguely  dreading  him  was  producing  excel 
lent  results?  As  with  a  Christian  the  fear  of  the  Lord 
was  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  so  with  a  wife  the  fear 
of  her  husband  was  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  In  striv 
ing  to  please  him,  to  fit  herself  for  the  position  of  wife, 
she  was  using  up  the  time  she  would  otherwise  have 
spent  in  making  herself  miserable  with  self-pity — that 
supreme  curse  of  the  idle  both  male  and  female,  that 
most  prolific  of  the  breeders  of  unhappy  wives.  Yes, 
wives  were  unhappy  not  because  their  husbands  neg 
lected  them,  for  busy  people  have  no  time  to  note 
whether  they  are  neglected  or  not,  but  because  they 
gave  their  own  worthless,  negligent,  incapable  selves 
too  much  attention. 

One  evening,  she,  wearing  the  look  of  the  timid  but 
406 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


resolute  intruder,  came  into  his  room  while  he  was 
dressing  for  dinner  and  hung  about  with  an  air  no  man 
of  his  experience  could  fail  to  understand. 

"  Something  wrong  about  the  house  ? "  said  he 
finally.  "  Need  more  money  ?  " 

"  No — nothing,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  flush. 
He  saw  that  she  was  mustering  all  her  courage  for 
some  grand  effort.  He  waited,  only  mildly  curious,  as 
his  mind  was  busy  with  some  new  business  he  and  Tet- 
low  had  undertaken.  Presently  she  stood  squarely  be 
fore  him,  her  hands  behind  her  back  and  her  face  up 
turned.  "Won't  you  kiss  me?"  she  said. 

"  Sure !  "  said  he.  And  he  kissed  her  on  the  cheek 
and  resumed  operations  with  his  military  brushes. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that — that  kind  of  a  kiss,"  said  she 
dejectedly. 

He  paused  with  a  quick  characteristic  turn  of  the 
head,  looked  keenly  at  her,  resumed  his  brushing.  A 
quizzical  smile  played  over  his  face.  "  Oh,  I  see,"  said 
he.  "  You've  been  thinking  about  duty.  And  you've 
decided  to  do  yours.  .  .  .  Eh?" 

"  I  think —  It  seems  to  me —  I  don't  think — "  she 
stammered,  then  said  desperately,  "  I've  not  been  act 
ing  right  by  you.  I  want  to — to  do  better." 

"  That's  good,"  said  he  briskly,  with  a  nod  of  ap 
proval — and  never  a  glance  in  her  direction.  "  You 
think  you'll  let  me  have  a  kiss  now  and  then — eh?  All 
right,  my  dear." 

407 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Ob,  you  won't  understand  me !  "  she  cried,  ready 
to  weep  with  vexation. 

"  You  mean  I  won't  misunderstand  you,"  replied 
he  amiably,  as  he  set  about  fixing  his  tie.  "  You've 
been  mulling  things  over  in  your  mind.  You've  decided 
I'm  secretly  pining  for  you.  You've  resolved  to  be 
good  and  kind  and  dutiful — generous — to  feed  old  dog 
Tray  a  few  crumbs  now  and  then.  .  .  .  That's  nice  and 
sweet  of  you — "  He  paused  until  the  crisis  in  tying 
was  passed — "  very  nice  and  sweet  of  you — but — 
There's  nothing  in  it.  All  I  ask  of  you  for  myself  is 
to  see  that  I'm  comfortable — that  Mrs.  Lowell  and  the 
servants  treat  me  right.  If  I  don't  like  anything,  I'll 
speak  out — never  fear." 

"  But — Fred — I  want  to  be  your  wife — I  really 
do,"  she  pleaded. 

He  turned  on  her,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
into  the  chamber  of  her  thoughts.  "  Drop  it,  my  dear," 
he  said  quietly.  "  Neither  of  us  is  in  love  with  the 
other.  So  there's  not  the  slightest  reason  for  pretend 
ing.  If  I  ever  want  to  be  free  of  you,  I'll  tell  you  so. 
If  you  ever  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  ask — and  it'll  be  arranged.  Meanwhile,  let's  en 
joy  ourselves." 

His  good  humor,  obviously  unfeigned,  would  have 
completely  discouraged  a  more  experienced  woman, 
though  as  vain  as  Dorothy  and  with  as  much  ground 
as  he  had  given  her  for  self-confidence  where  he  was 

408 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


concerned.  But  Dorothy  was  depressed  rather  than 
profoundly  discouraged.  A  few  moments  and  she 
found  courage  to  plead :  "  But  you  used  to  care  for 
me.  Don't  I  attract  you  any  more?  " 

"  You  say  that  quite  pathetically,"  said  he,  in  good- 
humored  amusement.  "  I'm  willing  to  do  anything 
within  reason  for  your  happiness.  But  really — just 
to  please  your  vanity  I  can't  make  myself  over  again 
into  the  fool  I  used  to  be  about  you.  You'd  hate  it 
yourself.  Why,  then,  this  pathetic  air?  " 

"  I  feel  so  useless — and  as  if  I  were  shirking,"  she 
persisted.  "  And  if  you  did  care  for  me,  it  wouldn't 
offend  me  now  as  it  used  to.  I've  grown  much  wiser — 
more  sensible.  I  understand  things — and  I  look  at 
them  differently.  And — I  always  did  like  you." 

"  Even  when  you  despised  me  ?  "  mocked  he.  It 
irritated  him  a  little  vividly  to  recall  what  a  consum 
mate  fool  he  had  made  of  himself  for  her,  even  though 
he  had  every  reason  to  be  content  with  the  event  of  his 
folly. 

"  A  girl  always  thinks  she  despises  a  man  when  she 
can  do  as  she  pleases  with  him,"  replied  she.  "  As  Mr. 
Tetlow  said,  I  was  a  fool." 

"  7  was  the  fool,"  said  he.  "  Where  did  that  man 
of  mine  lay  the  handkerchief?  " 

"  I,  too,"  cried  she,  eagerly.  "  You  were  foolish  to 
bother  about  a  little  silly  like  me.  But,  oh,  what  a  fool 

I  was  not  to  realize " 

409 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  You're  not  trying  to  tell  me  you're  in  love  with 
me?"  said  he  sharply. 

"  Oh,  no — no,  indeed,"  she  protested  in  haste, 
alarmed  by  his  overwhelming  manner.  "  I'm  not  try 
ing  to  deceive  you  in  any  way." 

"  Never  do,"  said  he.  "  It's  the  one  thing  I  can't 
stand." 

"  But  I  thought — it  seemed  to  me — "  she  persisted, 
"  that  perhaps  if  we  tried  to — to  care  for  each  other, 
we'd  maybe  get  to — to  caring — more  or  less.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  was  his  careless  reply.  He  added, 
"  But  I,  for  one,  am  well  content  with  things  as  they 
are.  I  confess  I  don't  look  back  with  any  satisfaction 
on  those  months  when  I  was  making  an  ass  of  myself 
about  you.  I  was  ruining  my  career.  Now  I'm  happy, 
and  everything  is  going  fine  in  my  business.  No  ex 
periments,  if  you  please."  He  shook  his  head,  looking 
at  her  with  smiling  raillery.  "  It  might  turn  out  that 
I'd  care  for  you  in  the  same  crazy  way  again,  and  that 
you  didn't  like  it.  Again  you  might  get  excited  about 
me  and  I'd  remain  calm  about  you.  That  would  give 
me  a  handsome  revenge,  but  I'm  not  looking  for  re 
venge." 

He  finished  his  toilet,  she  standing  quiet  and 
thoughtful  in  an  attitude  of  unconscious  grace. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  resumed  he,  as  he  prepared  to  de 
scend  for  dinner,  "  let's  have  a  peaceful,  cheerful  mar- 

410 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


ried  life,  with  no  crazy  excitements.  Let's  hang  on  to 
what  we've  got,  and  take  no  unnecessary  risks."  He 
patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  "  Isn't  that  sensible  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  serious,  appealing  eyes. 
"  You  are  sure  you  aren't  unhappy?  " 

It  was  amusing  to  him — though  he  concealed  it — 
to  see  how  tenaciously  her  feminine  egotism  held  to  the 
idea  that  she  was  the  important  person.  And,  when 
women  of  experience  thus  deluded  themselves,  it  was 
not  at  all  strange  that  this  girl  should  be  unable  to 
grasp  the  essential  truth  as  to  the  relations  of  men  and 
women — that,  while  a  woman  who  makes  her  sex  her 
profession  must  give  to  a  man,  to  some  man,  a  dom 
inant  place  in  her  life,  a  man  need  give  a  woman — at 
least,  any  one  woman — little  or  no  place.  But  he 
would  not  wantonly  wound  her  harmless  vanity.  "  Don't 
worry  about  me,  please,"  said  he  in  the  kindest,  friend 
liest  way.  "  I  am  telling  you  the  truth." 

And  they  descended  to  the  dining  room.  Usually 
he  was  preoccupied  and  she  did  most  of  the  talking — 
not  a  difficult  matter  for  her,  as  she  was  one  of  those 
who  by  nature  have  much  to  say,  who  talk  on  and  on, 
giving  lively,  pleasant  recitals  of  commonplace  daily 
happenings.  That  evening  it  was  her  turn  to  be  ab 
stracted,  or,  at  least,  silent.  He  talked  volubly,  tor- 
rentially,  like  a  man  of  teeming  mind  in  the  highest 
spirits.  And  he  was  in  high  spirits.  The  Galloway 
enterprise  had  developed  into  a  huge  success;  also,  it 
14  411 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


did  not  lessen  his  sense  of  the  pleasantness  of  life  to 
have  learned  that  his  wife  was  feeling  about  as  well 
disposed  toward  him  as  he  cared  to  have  her  feel,  had 
come  round  to  that  state  of  mind  which  he,  as  a  prac 
tical  man,  wise  in  the  art  of  life,  regarded  as  ideal  for 
a  wife. 

A  successful  man,  with  a  quiet  and  comfortable 
home,  well  enough  looked  after  by  an  agreeable  wife, 
exceeding  good  to  look  at  and  interested  only  in  her 
home  and  her  husband — what  more  could  a  man  ask? 

What  more  could  a  man  ask  ?  Only  one  thing  more 
— a  baby.  The  months  soon  passed  and  that  rounding 
out  of  the  home  side  of  his  life  was  consummated  with 
no  mishap.  The  baby  was  a  girl,  which  contented  him 
and  delighted  Dorothy.  He  wished  it  to  be  named  after 
her,  she  preferred  his  sister's  name — Ursula.  It  was 
Ursula  who  decided  the  question.  "  She  looks  like  you, 
Fred,"  she  declared,  after  an  earnest  scanning  of  the 
wierd  little  face.  "  Why  not  call  her  Frederica?  " 

Norman  thought  this  clumsy,  but  Dorothy  instant 
ly  assented — and  the  baby  was  duly  christened  Fred- 
erica. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  having  less  pressing 
business  in  town,  but  whatever  the  reason,  he  began  to 
stay  at  home  more — surprisingly  more.  And,  being  at 
home,  he  naturally  fell  into  the  habit  of  fussing  with  the 
baby,  he  having  the  temperament  that  compels  a  man  to 

412 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


be  always  at  something,  and  the  baby  being  convenient 
and  in  the  nature  of  a  curiosity.  Ursula,  who  was 
stopping  in  the  house,  did  not  try  to  conceal  her  amaze 
ment  at  this  extraordinary  development  of  her  broth 
er's  character. 

Said  she :  "  I  never  before  knew  you  to  take  the 
slightest  interest  in  a  child." 

Said  he :  "I  never  before  saw  a  child  worth  taking 
the  slightest  interest  in." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Ursula,  «  it  won't  last.  You'll 
soon  grow  tired  of  your  plaything." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,"  said  Norman.  "  I  hope 
you're  wrong."  He  reflected,  added :  "  In  fact,  I'm  al 
most  certain  you're  wrong.  I'm  too  selfish  to  let  myself 
lose  such  a  pleasure.  If  you  had  observed  my  life 
closely,  you'd  have  discovered  that  I  have  never  given  up 
a  single  thing  I  found  a  source  of  pleasure.  That  is 
good  sense.  That  is  why  the  superior  sort  of  men  and 
women  retain  something  of  the  boy  and  the  girl  all  their 
lives.  I  still  like  a  lot  of  the  games  I  played  as  a  boy. 
For  some  years  I've  had  no  chance  to  indulge  in  them. 
I'll  be  glad  when  Rica  is  old  enough  to  give  me  the  chance 
again." 

She  was  much  amused.  "  Who'd  have  suspected 
that  you  were  a  born  father !  " 

"  Not  I,  for  one,"  confessed  he.  "  We  never  know 
what  there  is  in  us  until  circumstances  bring  it  out." 

"  A  devoted  father  and  a  doting  husband,"  pursued 
413 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


Ursula.  "  I  must  say  I  rather  sympathize  with  you  as 
a  doting  husband.  Of  course,  I,  a  woman,  can't  see  her 
as  you  do.  I  can't  imagine  a  man — especially  a  man 
of  your  sort — going  stark  mad  about  a  mere  woman. 
But,  as  women  go,  I'll  admit  she  is  a  good  specimen. 
Not  the  marvel  of  intelligence  and  complex  character 
you  imagine,  but  still  a  good  specimen.  And  physical 
ly — "  She  laughed —  "  That's  what  caught  you. 
That's  what  holds  you — and  will  hold  you  as  long  as  it 
lasts." 

"  Was  there  ever  a  woman  who  didn't  think  that  ? — 
and  didn't  like  to  think  it,  though  I  believe  many  of  them 
make  strong  pretense  at  scorning  the  physical."  Fred 
was  regarding  his  sister  with  a  quizzical  expression. 
"  You  approve  of  her  ?  "  he  said. 

"  More  than  I'd  have  thought  possible.  And  after 
I've  taken  her  about  in  the  world  a  while  she'll  be  per 
fect." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Norman.  "  But,  alas,  she'll  never 
be  perfect.  For,  you're  not  going  to  take  her  about." 

"  So  she  says  when  I  talk  of  it  to  her,"  replied  Ur 
sula.  "  But  I  know  you'll  insist.  You  needn't  be  un 
easy  as  to  how  she'll  be  received." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Norman  dryly. 

"  You've  got  back  all  you  lost — and  more.  How 
we  Americans  do  worship  success !  " 

"  Don't  suggest  to  Dorothy  anything  further  about 
society,"  said  Norman.  "  I've  no  time  or  taste  for  it, 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


and  I  don't  wish  to  be  annoyed  by  intrusions  into  my 
home." 

"  But  you'll  not  be  satisfied  always  with  just  her," 
urged  his  sister.  "  Besides,  you've  got  a  position  to 
maintain." 

Norman's  smile  was  cynically  patient.  "  I  want  my 
home  and  I  want  my  career,"  said  he.  "  And  I  don't 
want  any  society  nonsense.  I  had  the  good  luck  to 
marry  a  woman  who  knows  and  cares  nothing  about  it. 
I  don't  purpose  to  give  up  the  greatest  advantage  of 
my  marriage." 

Ursula  was  astounded.  She  knew  the  meaning  of 
his  various  tones  and  manners,  and  his  way  of  rejecting 
her  plans  for  Dorothy — and,  incidentally,  for  her  own 
amusement — convinced  her  that  he  was  through  and 
through  in  earnest.  "  It  will  be  dreadfully  lonesome 
for  her,  Fred,"  she  pleaded. 

"  We'll  wait  till  that  trouble  faces  us,"  replied  he, 
not  a  bit  impressed.  "  And — don't  forget — not  a  word 
of  temptation  to  her  from  you."  This  with  an  expres 
sion  that  warned  her  how  well  he  knew  her  indirect  ways 
of  accomplishing  what  she  could  not  gain  directly. 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  interfere,"  said  she  in  a  tone  that 
made  it  a  binding  promise.  "  But  you  can't  expect  me 
to  sympathize  with  your  plans  for  an  old-fashioned 
domestic  life." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Norman.  "  You  don't  under 
stand.  Women  of  your  sort  never  do.  That's  why 

415 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


you're  not  fit  to  be  the  wives  of  men  worth  while.  A 
serious  man  and  a  society  woman  can't  possibly  hit  it 
off  together.  For  a  serious  man  the  outside  world  is  a 
place  to  work,  and  home  is  a  place  to  rest.  For  a  society 
woman,  the  world  is  a  place  to  idle  and  home  is  a  work 
shop,  an  entertainment  factory.  It's  impossible  to  rec 
oncile  those  two  opposite  ideas." 

She  saw  his  point  at  once,  and  it  appealed  to  her  in 
telligence.  And  she  had  his  own  faculty  for  never  per 
mitting  prejudice  to  influence  judgment.  She  said  in  a 
dubious  tone,  "  Do  you  think  Dorothy  will  sympathize 
with  your  scheme?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  he. 

"  If  she  doesn't—"     Ursula  halted  there. 

Her  brother  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  If  she  proves 
to  be  the  wrong  sort  of  woman  for  me,  she'll  go  her  way 
and  I  mine." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  loved  her !  " 

"  What  have  I  said  that  leads  you  to  change  your 
mind?  "  said  he. 

"  A  man  does  not  take  the  high  hand  with  the  woman 
he  adores." 

"  So?  "  said  Norman  tranquilly. 

"  Well,"  said  his  puzzled  sister  by  way  of  conclusion, 
"  if  you  persist  in  being  the  autocrat " 

"Autocrat?— I?"  laughed  he.  "Am  I  trying  to 
compel  her  to  do  anything  she  doesn't  wish  to  do? 
Didn't  I  say  she  would  be  free  to  go  if  she  were  dissatis- 

416 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


fied  with  me  and  my  plan — if  she  didn't  adopt  it  gladly 
as  her  own  plan,  also?  " 

"  But  you  know  very  well  she's  dependent  upon  you, 
Fred." 

"  Is  that  my  fault  ?  Does  a  man  force  a  woman  to 
become  dependent?  And  just  because  she  is  dependent, 
should  he  therefore  yield  to  her  and  let  her  make  of  his 
life  a  waste  and  a  folly  ?  " 

"  You're  far  too  clever  for  me  to  argue  with.  Any 
how,  as  I  was  saying,  if  you  persist  in  what  I  call 
tyranny " 

"  When  a  woman  cries  tyranny,  it  means  she's  furious 
because  she  is  not  getting  her  autocratic  way." 

"  Maybe  so,"  admitted  Ursula  cheerfully.  "  At 
any  rate,  if  you  persist — unless  she  loves  you  utterly, 
.your  life  will  be  miserable." 

"  She  may  make  her  own  life  miserable,  but  not 
mine,"  replied  he.  "  If  I  were  the  ordinary  man — 
counting  himself  lucky  to  have  induced  any  woman  to 
marry  him — afraid  if  he  lost  his  woman  he'd  not  be  able 
to  get  another — able  to  give  his  woman  only  an  indif 
ferent  poor  support,  and  so  on — if  I  were  one  of  those 
men,  what  you  say  might  be  true.  But  what  deep  and 
permanent  mischief  can  a  frail  woman  do  a  strong 
man?" 

"  There's  instance  after  instance  in  history " 

"  Of  strong  men  wrecking  themselves  through  vari 
ous  kinds  of  madness,  including  sex  madness.  But,  my 

417 


THE   GRAIN   OF  DUST 


dear  Ursula,  not  an  instance — not  one — where  the 
woman  was  responsible.  If  history  were  truth,  instead 
of  lies — you  women  might  have  less  conceit." 

"  You — talking  this  way !  "  mocked  Ursula. 

"  Meaning,  I  suppose,  my  late  infatuation  ?  "  in 
quired  he,  unruffled. 

"  I  never  saw  or  read  of  a  worse  case." 

"Am  I  ruined?" 

"  No.  But  why  not  ?  Because  you  got  her.  If 
you  hadn't — "  Ursula  blew  out  a  large  cloud  of 
cigarette  smoke  with  a  "  Pouf !  " 

"  If  I  hadn't  got  her,"  said  Norman,  "  I'd  have  got 
well,  just  the  same,  in  due  time.  A  sick  weak  man  goes 
down ;  a  sick  strong  man  gets  well.  When  a  man  who's 
reputed  to  be  strong  doesn't  get  well,  it's  because  he 
merely  seemed  strong  but  wasn't.  The  poets  and  novel 
ists  and  the  historians  and  the  rest  of  the  nature  fakers 
fail  to  tell  all  the  facts,  dear  sister.  All  the  facts  would 
spoil  a  pretty  story." 

Ursula  thought  a  few  minutes,  suddenly  burst  out 
with,  "  Do  you  think  Dorothy  loves  you  now?  " 

Norman  rose  to  go  out  doors.  "  I  don't  think  about 
such  unprofitable  things,"  said  he.  "  As  long  as  we  suit 
each  other  and  get  along  pleasantly — why  bother  about 
a  name  for  it  ?  " 

In  the  French  window  he  paused,  stood  looking  out 
with  an  expression  so  peculiar  that  Ursula,  curious, 
came  to  see  the  cause.  A  few  yards  away,  under  a  big 

418 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


symmetrical  maple  in  full  leaf  sat  Dorothy  with  the 
baby  on  her  lap.  She  was  dressed  very  simply  in  white. 
There  was  a  little  sunlight  upon  her  hair,  a  sheen  of  gold 
over  her  skin.  She  was  looking  down  at  the  baby.  Her 
expression — 

Said  Ursula :  "  Several  of  the  great  painters  have 
tried  to  catch  that  expression.  But  they've  failed." 

Norman  made  no  reply.  He  had  not  heard.  All 
in  an  instant  there  had  been  revealed  to  him  a  whole 
new  world — a  view  of  man  and  woman — of  woman — 
of  sex — its  meaning  so  different  from  what  he  had  be 
lieved  and  lived. 

"  What're  you  thinking  about,  Fred  ?  "  inquired  his 
sister. 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  mysterious  smile,  and 
strolled  away. 


XXII 

THE  baby  grew  and  thrived,  as  the  habit  is  with 
healthy  children  well  taken  care  of.  Mrs.  Norman  soon 
got  back  her  strength,  her  figure,  and  perhaps  more 
than  her  former  beauty — as  the  habit  is  with  healthy 
women  well  taken  care  of.  Norman's  career  continued 
to  prosper,  likewise  according  to  the  habit  of  all  healthy 
things  well  taken  care  of.  In  a  world  where  nothing 
happens  by  chance,  mischance,  to  be  serious,  must  have 
some  grave  fault  as  its  hidden  cause.  We  mortals,  who 
love  to  live  at  haphazard  and  to  blame  God  or  destiny 
or  "  bad  luck  "  for  our  calamities,  hate  to  take  this 
modern  and  scientific  view  of  the  world  and  life.  But, 
whether  we  like  it  or  not,  it  is  the  truth — and,  as  we 
can't  get  round  it,  why  not  accept  it  cheerfully  and,  so 
appear  a  little  less  ignorant  and  ridiculous? 

During  their  first  year  at  the  Hempstead  place  the 
results  in  luxury  and  comfort  had  at  no  time  accounted 
for  the  money  it  cost  and  the  servants  it  employed — 
that  is  to  say,  paid.  But  Norman  was  neither  unreason 
able  nor  impatient.  Also,  in  his  years  of  experience 
with  his  sister's  housekeeping,  and  of  observation  of 

420 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


the  other  women,  he  had  grown  exceedingly  moderate 
in  his  estimate  of  the  ability  of  women  and  in  his  ex 
pectations  from  them.  He  had  reached  the  conclusion 
that  the  women  who  were  sheltered  and  pampered  by 
the  men  of  the  successful  classes  were  proficient  only 
in  those  things  that  call  for  no  skill  or  effort  beyond 
the  wagging  of  the  tongue.  He  saw  that  Dorothy  was 
making  honest  endeavor  to  learn  her  business,  and  he 
knew  that  learning  takes  time — much  time. 

He  believed  that  in  the  end  she  would  do  better  than 
any  other  wife  of  his  acquaintance,  at  the  business  of 
wife  and  mother. 

Before  the  baby  was  two  years  old,  his  belief  was 
rewarded.  Things  began  to  run  better — began  to  run 
well,  even.  Dorothy — a  serious  person,  unhampered  of 
a  keen  sense  of  humor,  had  taught  herself  the  duties 
of  her  new  position  in  much  the  same  slow  plodding  way 
in  which  she  had  formerly  made  of  herself  a  fair  stenog 
rapher  and  a  tolerable  typewriter.  Mrs.  Lowell  had 
helped — and  Ursula,  too — and  Norman  not  a  little. 
But  Dorothy,  her  husband  discovered,  was  one  of  those 
who  thoroughly  assimilate  what  they  take  in — who  make 
it  over  into  part  of  themselves.  So,  her  manner  of  keep 
ing  house,  of  arranging  the  gardens,  of  bringing  up  the 
baby,  of  dressing  herself,  was  peculiarly  her  own.  It 
was  not  by  any  means  the  best  imaginable  way.  It  was 
even  what  many  energetic,  systematic  and  highly  com 
petent  persons  would  speak  contemptuously  of.  But  it 

421 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


satisfied  Norman — and  that  was  all  Dorothy  had  in 
mind. 

If  those  who  have  had  any  considerable  opportunity 
to  observe  married  life  will  forget  what  they  have  read 
in  novels  and  will  fix  their  minds  on  what  they  have 
observed  at  first  hand,  they  will  recognize  the  Norman 
marriage,  with  the  husband  and  wife  living  together 
yet  apart  as  not  peculiar  but  of  a  rather  common  type. 
Neither  Fred  nor  Dorothy  had  any  especial  reason  on 
any  given  day  to  try  to  alter  their  relations;  so  the 
law  of  inertia  asserted  itself  and  matters  continued  as 
they  had  begun.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  chance  remark  of 
Tetlow's  that  was  the  remote  but  efficient  cause  of  a 
change,  as  the  single  small  stone  slipping  high  up  on 
the  mountain  side  results  in  a  vast  landslide  into  the 
valley  miles  below.  Tetlow  said  one  day,  in  connection 
with  some  estate  they  were  settling: 

"  I've  always  pitied  the  only  child.  It  must  be 
miserably  lonesome." 

No  sooner  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  than 
he  colored  violently;  for,  he  remembered  that  the  Nor 
mans  had  but  one  child  and  he  knew  the  probable  reason 
for  it.  Norman  seemed  not  to  have  heard  or  seen. 
Tetlow  hoped  he  hadn't,  but,  knowing  the  man,  feared 
otherwise.  And  he  was  right. 

In  the  press  of  other  matters  Norman  forgot  Tet 
low's  remark — remembered  it  again  a  few  days  later 
when  he  was  taking  the  baby  out  for  an  airing  in  the 

4*4 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


motor — forgot  it  again — finally,  when  he  took  a  several 
days'  rest  at  home,  remembered  it  and  kept  it  in  mind. 
He  began  to  think  of  Dorothy  once  more  in  a  definite, 
personal  way,  began  to  observe  her  as  his  wife,  instead 
of  as  mere  part  of  his  establishment.  An  intellectual 
person  she  certainly  was  not.  She  had  a  quaint  in 
dividual  way  of  speaking  and  of  acting.  She  had  the 
marvelous  changeable  beauty  that  had  once  caused  him 
to  take  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and  run  wild.  But  he  would 
no  more  think  of  talking  with  her  about  the  affairs  that 
really  interested  him  than — well,  than  the  other  men  of 
large  career  in  his  acquaintance  would  think  of  talk 
ing  those  matters  to  their  wives. 

But —  He  was  astonished  to  discover  that  he  liked 
this  slim,  quiet,  unobtrusive  little  wife  of  his  better  than 
he  liked  anyone  else  in  the  world,  that  he  eagerly  turned 
away  from  the  clever  and  amusing  companionship  he 
might  have  at  his  clubs  to  come  down  to  the  country 
and  be  with  her  and  the  baby — not  the  baby  alone,  but 
her  also.  Why?  He  could  not  find  a  satisfactory  rea 
son.  He  saw  that  she  created  at  that  Hempstead  place 
an  atmosphere  of  rest,  of  tranquility.  But  this  merely 
thrust  the  mystery  one  step  back.  How  did  she  create 
this  atmosphere — and  for  a  man  of  his  varied  and  dis 
criminating  tastes?  To  that  question  he  could  work 
out  no  answer.  She  had  for  him  now  a  charm  as  differ 
ent  from  the  infatuation  of  former  days  as  calm  sea  is 
from  tempest-racked  sea — utterly  different,  yet  fully 

428 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


as  potent.  As  he  observed  her  and  wondered  at  these 
discoveries  of  his,  the  ghost  of  a  delight  he  had  thought 
forever  dead  stirred  in  his  heart,  in  his  fancy.  Yes, 
it  was  a  pleasure,  a  thrilling  pleasure  to  watch  her. 
There  was  music  in  those  quiet,  graceful  movements  of 
hers,  in  that  quiet,  sweet  voice.  Not  the  wild,  blood- 
heating  music  of  the  former  days,  but  a  kind  far  more 
melodious — tender,  restful  to  nerves  sorely  tried  by  the 
tensions  of  ambition.  He  made  some  sort  of  an  attempt 
to  define  his  feeling  for  her,  but  could  not.  It  seemed 
to  fit  into  none  of  the  usual  classifications. 

Then,  he  wondered —  "  What  is  she  thinking 
of  me?  " 

To  find  out  he  resorted  to  various  elaborate  round 
about  methods  that  did  credit  to  the  ingenuity  of  his 
mind.  But  he  made  at  every  cunning  cast  a  barren 
water-haul.  Either  she  was  not  thinking  of  him  at  all 
or  what  she  thought  swam  too  deep  for  any  casts  he 
knew  how  to  make  in  those  hidden  and  unfamiliar 
waters.  Or,  perhaps  she  did  not  herself  know  what 
she  thought,  being  too  busy  with  the  baby  and  the 
household  to  have  time  for  such  abstract  and  not  press 
ing,  perhaps  not  important,  matters.  He  moved  slowly 
in  his  inquiries  into  her  state  of  mind  because  there 
was  all  the  time  in  the  world  and  no  occasion  for  haste. 
He  moved  cautiously  because  he  wished  to  do  nothing 
that  might  disturb  the  present  serenity  of  their  home 
life.  Did  she  dislike  him?  Was  she  indifferent?  Had 

424 


THE   GRAIN  OF  DUST 


she  developed  a  habit  of  having  him  about  that  was  in 
a  way  equivalent  to  liking? 

These  languid  but  delightful  investigations — not 
unlike  the  pastimes  one  spins  out  when  one  has  a  long, 
long  lovely  summer  day  with  hours  on  hours  for  luxur 
ious  happy  idling — these  investigations  were  abruptly 
suspended  by  a  suddenly  compelled  trip  to  Europe. 
He  arranged  for  Dorothy  to  send  him  a  cable  every 
day — "  about  yourself  and  the  baby  " — and  he  sent  an 
occasional  cabled  bulletin  about  himself  in  reply.  But 
neither  wrote  to  the  other;  their  relationship  was  not 
of  the  letter-exchanging  kind — and  had  no  need  of  pre 
tense  at  what  it  was  not. 

In  the  third  month  of  his  absence,  his  sister  Ursula 
came  over  for  dresses,  millinery  and  truly  aristocratic 
society.  She  had  little  time  for  him,  or  he  for  her,  but 
they  happened  to  lunch  alone  about  a  week  after  his 
arrival. 

"You're  looking  cross  and  unhappy,"  said  she. 
"  What's  the  matter?  Business?  " 

"  No — everything's  going  well." 

"  Same  thing  that's  troubling  Dorothy,  then?  " 

"  Is  Dorothy  ill?  "  inquired  he,  suddenly  as  alert  as 
he  had  been  absent.  "  She  hasn't  let  me  know  anything 
about  it." 

"111?  Of  course  not,"  reassured  Ursula.  "She's 
never  ill.  But — I've  not  anywhere  or  ever  seen  two 
people  as  crazy  about  each  other  as  you  and  she." 

425 


THE   GRAIN   OF   DUST 


"  Really  ?  "  Norman  had  relapsed  into  interest  in 
what  he  was  eating. 

"  You  live  all  alone  down  there  in  the  country. 
You  treat  anyone  who  comes  to  see  you  as  intruder. 
And  as  soon  as  darling  husband  goes  away,  darling 
wife  wanders  about  like  a  damned  soul.  Honestly,  it 
gave  me  the  blues  to  look  at  her  eyes.  And  I  used  to 
think  she  cared  more  about  the  baby  than  about  you." 

"  She's  probably  worried  about  something  else," 
said  Norman.  "More  salad?  No?  There's  no  des 
sert — at  least  I've  ordered  none.  But  if  you'd  like  some 
strawberries ' ' 

"  I  thought  of  that,"  replied  Ursula,  not  to  be  de 
flected,  "  I  mean  of  her  being  upset  about  something 
beside  you.  I'm  slow  to  suspect  anyone  of  really  car 
ing  about  any  one  else.  But,  although  she  didn't  con 
fess,  I  soon  saw  that  it  was  your  absence.  And  she 
wasn't  putting  on  for  my  benefit,  either.  My  maid  hears 
the  same  thing  from  all  the  servants." 

"  This  is  pleasant,"  said  Norman  in  his  mocking 
good-humored  way. 

"  And  you're  in  the  same  state,"  she  charged  with 
laughing  but  sympathetic  eyes.  "  Why,  Fred,  you're 
as  madly  in  love  with  her  as  ever." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  he  reflectively. 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  her  with  you  ?  " 

He  stared  at  his  sister  like  a  man  who  has  just  dis 
covered  that  he,  with  incredible  stupidity,  had  over- 

426 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


looked  the  obvious.     "  I  didn't  think  I'd  be  away  long," 
evaded  he. 

He  saw  Ursula  off  for  the  Continent,  half  promised 
to  join  her  in  a  few  weeks  at  Aix.  A  day  or  so  after 
her  departure  he  had  a  violent  fit  of  blues,  was  haunted 
by  a  vision  of  the  baby  and  the  comfortable,  peaceful 
house  on  Long  Island.  He  had  expected  to  stay  about 
two  months  longer.  "  I'm  sick  of  England  and  of  ho 
tels,"  he  said,  and  closed  up  his  business  and  sailed  the 
following  week. 

She  and  the  baby  were  at  the  pier  to  meet  him.  He 
looked  for  signs  of  the  mourning  Ursula  had  described, 
but  he  looked  in  vain.  Never  had  he  seen  her  lovelier, 
or  so  sparkling.  And  how  she  did  talk! — rattling  on 
and  on,  with  those  interesting  commonplaces  of  domestic 
event — the  baby,  the  household,  the  garden,  the  baby; 
— the  horses,  the  dogs,  the  baby — the  servants,  her  new 
dresses,  the  baby — and  so  on,  and  so  on — and  the 
baby. 

But  when  they  got  into  the  motor  at  Hempstead 
station  for  the  drive  home,  silence  fell  upon  her — he 
had  been  almost  silent  from  the  start  of  the  little  jour 
ney.  As  the  motor  swung  into  the  grounds,  looking 
their  most  beautiful  for  his  homecoming,  an  enormous 
wave  of  pure  delight  began  to  surge  up  in  him,  to  swell, 
to  rush,  to  break,  dashing  its  spray  of  tears  into  his 
eyes.  He  turned  his  head  away  to  hide  the  too  obvious 

427 


THE    GRAIN   OF   DUST 


display  of  feeling.  They  went  into  the  house,  he  carry 
ing  the  baby.  He  gave  it  to  the  nurse — and  he  and 
she  were  alone. 

"  It  certainly  is  good  to  be  home  again,"  he  said. 

The  words  were  the  tamest  commonplace.  We  al 
ways  speak  in  the  old  stereotyped  commonplaces  when 
we  speak  directly  from  the  heart.  His  tone  made  her 
glance  quickly  at  him. 

"  Why,  I  believe  you  are  glad,"  said  she. 

He  took  her  hand.  They  looked  at  each  other. 
Suddenly  she  flung  herself  wildly  into  his  arms  and 
clung  to  him  in  an  agony  of  joy  and  fear.  "  Oh,  I 
missed  you  so !  "  she  sobbed.  "  I  missed  you  so !  " 

"  It  was  frightful,"  said  he.  "  It  shall  never  hap 
pen  again." 


(7) 


THE  END 


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